


The Consequences of Magic Unknown

by HollyBrianne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Slow Burn, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-10-24 17:43:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 32,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20709998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyBrianne/pseuds/HollyBrianne
Summary: Hermione returns to Hogwarts after the war for her 7th year. As Head Girl she catches Draco threatening other students with magic and gives him detention, with her as his detention supervisor. Will the alone time breed new understanding between them, or possibly affection? And what are the effects of the mysterious spell he cast?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Of course, I do not own these characters or the world in which I'm writing them.
> 
> Please be aware: while the endgame of this story is Dramione, Hermione spends most of the story in a relationship with Ron. I did not tag their relationship because I didn't want Romione fans to be disappointed.

Hermione breathed in deep and inhaled the floral scent of a tree in the Hogwarts courtyard. A late summer breeze blew past her nostrils and it brought an unstoppable smile to her face. These days she appreciated things more, like that sweet smell of the flowering tree, and the gentle caress of the warm breeze. She could see a masterpiece painted in the sky for each sunrise and hear symphonies in the songs of the delivery owls. Even food tasted richer now, and when she ate she savored her bites like she'd never eaten before. All of her senses were heightened. Life was more precious since she'd worked so hard to keep it, to earn it.

She was thankful for so many reasons. One, naturally the biggest, was that Voldemort was gone for good. Harry had finished the fight on the grounds of this very castle exactly four months ago to the day. They had lost many in that battle, and the years leading up to it, but they had saved many, too. Hermione had grieved, not just for the lost ones she held dear, but even the ones she didn't know from Adam. It helped, a bit anyway, that she had played a part in saving the ones who survived. Hunting for horcruxes, living in fear of being caught, then a_ctually _being caught and tortured, that had all been worth it for victory.

So here she was at Hogwarts again, where it had all started for her, and she was about to make a new start again. A new school year, that is. She had entirely missed her seventh year from the war which (aside from the reason behind it) was highly disappointing, being the consummate student that she was. When she got her letter last month inviting her to return, she genuinely shouted in celebration. It was her second chance and it would be her last chance to finally have a normal year at Hogwarts.

Not that she could even imagine what a normal year would look like. She'd have to imagine it without her two best friends. Well, not entirely without them. While Ron had flat out refused a return to Hogwarts, choosing instead to join his brother George at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, at least Harry would still be around.

The previous night, Hermione had attended the start of term feast, full of so many emotions that she couldn't even name them. Excited might have been one of them, and maybe lonesome could have been another, the rest was a jumble of nerves buzzing around her insides. She did sit beside Ginny and clap enthusiastically for all the newly sorted first years (with a little extra vigor reserved for the Gryffindors, naturally). When the sorting was over, Headmistress McGonagall made the usual announcements. Among them were that Defense Against Dark Arts class was reinstated, after having been replaced by just the Dark Arts class the prior year. Another was that Muggle Studies would remain compulsory as the prior year started, but would no longer be the negative propaganda machine that it had been under the direction of Professor Carrow. The new focus would be not only tolerance, but acceptance.

Then came the new teacher announcements. The students applauded politely when Professor Schipplunk was introduced for Muggle Studies, but all was silent as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher entered the hall.

Professor Harry Potter.

He smiled in Hermione's direction and she was sure she was staring at him like she had seen a ghost, or on second thought, something more unlikely since Nearly Headless Nick was making a similar face. She rounded on Ginny who gave her a half-hearted shrug.

"You knew?" Hermione whispered. The redheaded girl nodded back. Hermione was a little miffed that she had been left in the dark, but then again, her bespectacled friend did tend to have a flair for the dramatic (not that he'd admit to it) and if he were to tell anyone it did make more sense that he'd tell his girlfriend.

"I can't believe he let me think he wasn't coming back. A whole month I spent trying to persuade him and Ron both to finish school and I bet he knew the whole time!" Hermione gave him dagger eyes across the hall and he at least had the decency to look scared about their next meeting. She turned her attention back to Ginny and the food that had just appeared on the table. "Well, you must be happy then, you get to see your boyfriend all year."

Ginny didn't look up from her plate. "Not really. I get to see _Professor Potter_ all year."

Hermione read the stiffness in her posture for the rest of her meaning: she and Harry weren't allowed to be boyfriend and girlfriend while she was his student. She wondered how much say Ginny'd had in the new arrangement. Harry would get an earful whenever she got a chance to be alone with him. Of course, congratulations would also be in order, the job did seem like a good fit for him from the experience he had with the D.A. Hermione looked back at Ginny and lingered on the question of which of them had it worse- herself for being in a long distance relationship with Ron who was out of school, or Ginny who would be forced to see Harry all year but unable to fully realize the type of relationship she'd already waited so long for.

Hermione made it through the rest of the night almost on autopilot. Now it was the morning of her last first day of classes and she was enjoying a little quiet solitude before the rest of the castle woke up for the day.

Or rather, she had been enjoying quiet, until she heard several frightened yelps accompanied by low laughter in the adjoining corridor. She scooped up her bag and hurried over to assess the noises. When she rounded the corner she found two boys, who she thought she recognized as newly sorted Hufflepuffs, cowering next to a tall and muscular blond.

"Malfoy?" she called in a commanding tone. Her hand gripped her wand but kept it down at her side.

The blond turned to face her and it was indeed the sharp angled chin and menacing gray eyes she expected. "Problem, Granger?" he drawled in return.

"What are you doing to those boys?"

"Doing _to _them?" Malfoy feigned an innocent air but his tone remained dangerous. "Nothing. These little firsties told me they were interested in seeing some real magic and I was happy to oblige."

"And what magic would that be exactly?" Hermione glowered at him and when he didn't respond she turned to the younger boys. "What was he planning to do? You know I can dock points from him, as Head Girl..."

"_Co_\- Head Girl." Malfoy interrupted.

He was right. The title had been split this year. As Hermione would have gotten the title last year if she had attended, the school decided she still deserved it this year, but that it wouldn't be fair to steal it from a true seventh year due to the odd circumstances. This year, she and Ginny shared the badge, each getting to be Co-Head.

"Co-Head doesn't make me any less capable of punishing you," she retorted and she faced Malfoy again. "And you've lost the Prefect badge, so I don't really see what you can do about it." It was about this time that the two young Hufflepuffs sidestepped and made their escape. Malfoy scoffed at their retreating figures and started to leave himself, shouldering Hermione on his way past.

"So first years are the only ones you can control now?"

She'd hit a nerve. Malfoy froze.

"I'm sure I could try my hand at you," he growled and extracted his wand from his robes. "Want to know what I was going to show them?"

Hermione raised her wand. "Malfoy, I'm warning you."

"Scared, Granger?" The blond rolled his eyes and sneered. "Maybe I'll try something different on you. I did find a curious spell in one of my father's old books. From the Dark section of the Malfoy Library. Not sure what it does exactly, but it said it's for _disobedient _women so it should do just fine."

He lunged forward. Hermione shouted.

"_Expelliarmus!"_

_"Zatvo renul jubavi!"_

Their magic collided at the midpoint between them and sparked red and white. Malfoy's wand flung to the side but nothing else happened aside from an involuntary shiver that ran the length of Hermione's spine. She could swear she saw Malfoy shudder at the same time. He grunted and grabbed for his dropped wand.

"Maybe you should have picked a shorter spell, you could've gotten the drop on me that way." Hermione lowered her wand but kept a tight hold.

"And I see you're still licking Potter's boots, using his _signature_ spell."

"Ten points from Slytherin," she responded and spun on her heel to leave.

"Whatever, mudblood," he spat to her back.

Hermione stopped. "You know," she seethed, "I'd have thought you would be more careful in using unknown magic, seeing as you were on the receiving end of a _Sectumsempra _in sixth year." She watched his expression change as he remembered the incident when Harry had accidentally attacked him and left him bleeding on a bathroom floor. Whether or not it was accidental was debatable, as the only thing Harry new about the spell was that it was _for enemies_.

"I think he knew full well what he was doing, Granger." Malfoy argued, but his face went paler.

Hermione tilted her head to the side and regarded the blond reproachfully. "Why are you even back at school, Malfoy? If you hate it and everyone here so much, why have you returned?" He ignored her question, only set his face in a heavier scowl.

She went on. "I've changed my mind, I'm not going to take house points for this. Your fellow Slytherins don't need to suffer for your refusal to reform yourself. I have something better in mind for you. Just because nothing happened here doesn't mean there aren't consequences for trying that spell." She stalked away and made it to the end of passageway, pausing at the threshold. She gave him one backwards look to make sure she still had his attention.

"Meet me in the seventh floor left corridor tonight after dinner. At the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy, I'm sure you recall. You're going to have detention. With me."

She left Malfoy with his mouth agape. He was so shocked that the obscenities didn't start flying until she was almost to the Great Hall for breakfast.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco marched with heavy feet into the Great Hall for breakfast. Suddenly he wasn't at all hungry. His eyes automatically found the frizzy brunette who drew his ire, seated at the Gryffindor table. She seemed pretty proud of herself.

Well, he'd show her. He'd go to that stupid detention prepared and give her a well deserved retribution. Maybe he'd do a little research and come up with the perfect hex that would mix pain and embarrassment. He could feel a grin growing on his face and then she looked his way with her best stern librarian expression. His smile soured.

No, that plan wouldn't do. Trying to use magic against her is what got him in this mess in the first place. Absentmindedly he twirled a fork between his long graceful fingers and thought. Was she even allowed to give him detention? Was that within her powers as Co-Head Girl? Draco started to doubt it. As prefect, he remembered he could dock or award points, and most of the duties surrounded patrolling the halls and assisting professors. So that was the plan. He'd rat her out to a professor and he'd get out of the detention. He chomped angrily on a potato but soon ruminated on the new flaw in his plan. A professor would naturally ask what he did to earn the detention and he'd still be punished. Possibly worse than his current predicament. It'd have to be a sympathetic professor, then, he thought as he eyed the long table at the front of the room. Not all the teachers were present but he stared from seat to seat pondering the pros and cons of each.

He reached the end of the table and grumbled. There didn't seem to be a professor in the whole bunch who would be sympathetic to his needs. If only his godfather were still alive, that would have been his only hope. As it stood now, he was shit out of luck. Potter waltzed in and took his new place at the professors' table. What a pompous git he was, Draco thought. Scarhead couldn't even wait a few years to come back, he was so full of himself he had to come back to teach students that used to be his peers.

Draco pushed his plate away after only eating a bite. He knew he had at least one thing to do before the day truly started: he needed to drop his Defense Against the Dark Arts class as soon as possible. There was no way he'd allow Potter to be _his _teacher.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"Great class, Harry!" Hermione called as the rest of the class filed out of the door. The first class of the year was under her belt, and she couldn't have been happier that it was Defense Against the Dark Arts taught by her best friend. Harry beamed at her then looked back to the dispersing crowd.

"Sorry. I mean, _Professor Potter_," Hermione corrected.

He laughed. "Harry's fine. Not everything's changed." His attention was still on the exit as a certain redhead left the room without so much as a word. He turned back to Hermione with a bittersweet smile. "Do you think she'll forgive me this time?"

"Ginny?" Hermione thought about it. She was friends with the girl, but even though Hermione would likely eventually become her sister-in-law, she didn't know her as deeply as she probably should. "I suppose that might depend on if you ask her to."

Harry ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair and sighed. "It's not like I have too much opportunity when there's a class full of other students around."

Hermione looked at her friend and thought of her own situation. "She's already waited this long, what's one more year?" Harry threw her a suspicious look. Hermione wondered if he gathered that she meant it as a comment about her own distant relationship, too. She fidgeted, desperate to change the subject. "Wasn't McGonagall worried that you'd have a bit of favoritism with most of your students being former classmates? How are you going to grade papers?"

Harry began to pack a text and notepad into his satchel. "She's got a system so that your names will be spelled off until after they're graded." He slung his satchel over his shoulder and fell into step with Hermione as they meandered toward the exit themselves. "Anyway, how's your day going? I'm sure you're relieved to get a year without getting into trouble on my behalf."

Hermione let out a wry laugh and shrugged as her only answer. She didn't like keeping things from Harry yet something stopped her from telling him about her run in with Malfoy earlier that morning, and that fact that her day would end with him as well. With any luck, the rest of the day in between would all be as good as her first class had gone.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Draco's day was not getting better. He'd spent his free period in the morning stewing over his fate for that night. He'd thought about going to the library to see if he could find any temporal spells. He knew his chances of getting it right were slim, even if he had a chance of finding a spell to slow down time, but the fantasy was tempting.

His hopes were dashed as soon as he walked into his first class and he abandoned the thought of slowing down time. He'd need to find a spell to speed up time now. He'd have to rush this day. Hell, he had to rush this whole school year.

_Granger_.

Of course she was in NEWT level Transfiguration with him, how could he have forgotten? It might have had something to do with that year that she'd run off into hiding and he'd been shut in his own manor playing host to the darkest wizard of all time. He supposed that could have affected his memory.

He shook his head, determined to keep his emotions masked. He would not give her the satisfaction that her presence had any command over his mood. He spent the class expertly ignoring her from the back corner of the classroom. She'd chosen a seat front and center, predictably, so Draco had to keep his distance. Unfortunately this also made it too easy for him to ignore the lesson. He grumbled as the class was dismissed. He was behind now and he'd have to catch up after class so as to not humiliate himself during their next period.

The rest of the day dragged, causing Draco to curse his earlier wishes. He saw Granger everywhere. It seemed as seventh year, technically eighth year, NEWT students they would have to cross paths relatively often.

Lamenting his terrible fortune inevitably reminded Draco of Granger's words from that morning. _Why are you even back at school, Malfoy? If you hate it and everyone here so much, why have you returned? _Truthfully, it was because he'd been forced. After the war, he'd faced a Ministry jury and the only way he was allowed any kind of normal life was to agree to complete his schooling. Technically he was also required to be involved in a _healing _project, which he imagined to be some kind of therapy circle where everyone cried about their feelings in public and hugged each other. Considering his options now, Azkaban didn't really sound all that bad any more.

Finally, Draco found himself back in the Great Hall for dinner. His dread was still dampening his appetite, but he forced himself to at least eat a few bites and have half a glass of pumpkin juice. Dealing with Granger would have been worse on an empty stomach.

She was glaring at him across the hall again, daring him to leave first, or maybe making sure he was actually going to meet her. He stood roughly, jostling the bench and disturbing a few of his fellow Slytherins. That earned him some dirty looks, but that wasn't much different than the rest of his day so he paid them no mind. He strutted out of the room with as much dignity as he could muster and made for the seventh floor.

_Meet me in the seventh floor left corridor tonight after dinner. At the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy, I'm sure you recall._

Yes, rub it in, Mudblood. Of course he recalled. He'd spent so much time there in sixth year, repairing the vanishing cabinet that ultimately let in an army of Death Eaters and brought about his former headmaster's demise. And then last year Crabbe had set a fiendfyre, destroying everything in its wake and killing him. That vindictive girl wanted him to relive some of the tortures of his past. Little did she know, they already haunted him in his dreams every night so this detention would not elicit the reaction she was expecting, and that was the only thought that made him feel slightly better as he reached the tapestry and the currently blank wall.

The Come and Go Room. Or the Room of Requirement, as he heard some of Potter's cronies call it once. But all Draco had used it for previously was the Room of Hidden Things. That's where he'd found the cabinet and where he'd tried to lose himself several times that year. If he could've just become part of the room, part of those piles, his life might have turned out better.

What did Granger expect them to find here, anyway? The room had been burnt. Was there even still a room on the other side of this wall? Was it possible that only the Room of Hidden Things was affected and you could still get another setting if you so required? He didn't have too long to contemplate because he heard a new set of shoes tapping on the stone floor. He steeled himself, waiting for her to address him.

"Malfoy," she said once she reached his side. "Thanks for coming."

He wanted to reply that he didn't have a choice, but then decided that would mean admitting to her power over him. He thought better of it and simply shrugged, hoping to appear bored.

"Do you know why I invited you here?"

"Invited?!" he bit back, unable to control himself this time.

She raised an eyebrow and smirked at him, an expression he couldn't remember ever seeing play on her face before. "So you can see the consequences of dark magic up close and personal." She paced in front of the blank wall three times and slowly a familiar door manifested. At first it was blurry around the edges, like it was off in the distance, then it came into focus. "Shall we?" Granger asked, although Draco knew it wasn't really a question. He opened the door and waited.

A swirling of dust emitted from the opening. Or was it smoke? Could it be that the room had been burning ever since May?

Granger pushed the door open wider and Draco got his first true glimpse in. The floor with littered with gray ash. Dots of orange embers hissed angrily every few meters. The room itself looked like an expansive cave filled with thousands of charred black stalagmites. They were menacing but delicate at the same time. Draco got the impression that if he breathed the wrong way, all of the char mountains could disintegrate and bury him. He thought about the life lost in this room. Some of the ash had to be what was left of Vincent Crabbe. That idea choked him worse than the thick air.

Draco turned and saw that Hermione had conjured a broom, a dust pan, and a rubbish bin.

"Would you like to know what you'll be doing?" She inquired. She may have been trying to sound innocent, but the room obviously troubled her as well. Her voice quaked ever so slightly.

He didn't need her to say it, Draco knew his task. She was making him clean up his mess. Without magic.

...

About an hour into his task and Draco's scowl had only gotten heavier. He was, however, pleased to find that the black towers weren't as fragile as he first assumed and danger of landslide didn't appear to be a big issue. He attacked the middles and let the peaks topple over to the side, then he swept away the rubble left at the floor. The debris was heavy. Draco had to concentrate to suppress a grunt when he first scooped up a pile. This was going to be tough going. On the positive side, he made another pleasant discovery that there were still some objects that hadn't been destroyed under the mess. Finding something worth saving in the devastation was probably what Granger hoped, and he had to admit the metaphor as a parallel to his life wasn't lost on him.

He'd unearthed a mostly intact clock from his third pile. Broken, but still beautiful. There was probably a metaphor there too, he snorted, but he refused to dwell on it. He polished the face with the only part of his sleeve that wasn't already covered in soot and sneered at his own dirty reflection.

Hermione cooed from behind him and plucked the clock out of his hands. "I bet I could repair this while you finish up!" She rushed over to a section of floor that had already been cleared and set to work. Draco glowered at her for a minute until she prodded him back to work with a snide comment about how she couldn't hear him sweeping. He growled but got back to it. He wished he could say the next hour went by quickly, but he could feel every excruciating minute of it. The smell of char had long ago infiltrated him so deep that he was tasting it. He coughed violently to dislodge it.

His prison guard clapped in excitement. "I've done it!" she declared. A ticking sound came to life beneath her. She'd fixed the clock.

"Great. Can that thing tell you if my sentence is over now?" he grumbled.

She ignored him long enough to levitate the clock and adhere it to the wall just above the doorway. "Yes, and it is," she replied with an icy tone. Draco didn't hesitate. He dropped the broom with a noisy clatter and made long strides to the exit. He'd meant to give her a shove on his way past but she sidestepped as he was walking, causing only his hand to brush hers.

Draco hissed loudly and pulled his hand away. It was like he'd been bitten. Pain like he'd never felt pierced his skin, then sent tremors up his arm. For a moment, he had the sensation that the room was on fire again and he was being consumed. When the agony subsided, Granger came back into his line of vision. She looked furious and insulted, like he had reacted that way on purpose to mock her. Well, let her think that, he wasn't about to correct that assumption.

"If you step another toe out of line, I'll find out Malfoy," she threatened, "and you can bet you'll be right back here until the job is really done."

Draco snarled then continued past. He'd shared enough words with that know-it-all for one day. Hopefully he'd be able to avoid her outside of classes from now on.


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing Draco registered when he woke up was pain.

It was like a dull knife was doing a _thud-thud thud-thud_ against his heart with every beat and his arms and legs were aching. He attributed the pain to the demeaning manual labor he'd been forced to do the night before. Maybe this was the kind of soreness that could be soothed by lying still, he thought. He gave it a go, but as the minutes ticked by, the pain just became stronger.

An empty growl from his stomach suddenly made Draco intensely aware of exactly how little he'd eaten yesterday. It was far too early to catch breakfast in the Great Hall, he knew, but there was bound to be something in the kitchen he could grab. He reconsidered that maybe this was the kind of soreness that he could stretch out by going for a walk.

If he could only get his sorry arse out of bed.

He strained to sit up, groaning in frustration, then dropped each leg over the edge of his bed to the floor. Slowly, he trudged to the kitchens and nicked some fruit and a heel of bread, anything he could stuff into the pockets of his robes. Climbing to higher floors would be difficult in his current state, so he found a dark alcove near the potions dungeon and decided to eat and wait it out. Potions was his first class anyway, and it would be convening in a mere... two hours. He sighed after checking his watch.

So he waited. Perhaps if he was lucky, they'd start the year by practicing healing potions, he mused. He winced as a new sensation started, on his skin this time, an incessant scratching like his robes were filled with thorns. He leapt about in a jerky kind of dance, trying to free himself of whatever was stuck in his clothes.

"Malfoy?"

Of course there would be a witness to his ridiculous jig.

And _of course_ it would be Granger.

He was so busy thinking of a biting remark that he almost didn't realize that the scratching feeling on his skin and the aches in his muscles had subsided. They weren't gone entirely but suddenly they were tolerable. Granger was squinting at him, a cross between concern and amusement evident in her frown. After they'd been staring at each other for a solid minute, she raised one dainty eyebrow.

"Look any longer and I'll have to charge you, Granger." He pulled his robes closed where they had fallen open at his chest. "And I doubt you could afford me."

Granger looked surprised, then wrinkled her nose. "You're revolting." She stomped past him into the classroom. So much for trying to avoid the witch.

...

His pain stayed at bay throughout Potions class, with just a small pulsing reminder when he moved too quickly. By the end of class, he was in good spirits, under the assumption that the worst was over.

He was wrong. His pains increased with each step he took away from the dungeon classroom and when he finally reached the Slytherin common room, he hurt worse than the morning. Was there something about the air down there that relieved him? He trudged back to the dungeons, cringing all the way, but when he reached the now empty classroom he found no relief. He'd just have to drag himself around until the discomfort died down.

Later that day, as he sat in the Charms classroom waiting for that lesson to start, he noticed the pains lifting again. He gave a large sigh, grateful for any respite, but as he was smiling to himself he saw that Granger had just entered the room. His smile instantly vanished.

This pattern kept up for several days. He would wake up sore and it would disappear during his lessons and sometimes at meal times when he was in the Great Hall. But each day the pain was worse than the day before. It was maddening. The weekend was harder, because the only relief he got was at meal times.

Draco began to experiment more. He'd gone back to the Potions classroom that first day to no avail. He tried staying late after class to see if the effects would last. No luck. Turning up early was no good either, except for the one day in the Ancient Runes classroom when Granger had also shown up early. Draco hadn't been able to decide if he should be happy the ache had subsided or angry to be in her presence.

It was probably then that his unhealthy obsession with her was born, if he had to pinpoint it. If he could even call it that, an obsession, which he certainly did not. It was true though that from then on, he always seemed to notice when she walked into a room or left one. Worse, his body seemed to be on alert for her, tingling with a sixth sense that he didn't quite understand until the fourth time it happened and she appeared immediately after. Well, he still didn't understand it, because even after he realized what it meant he couldn't bloody figure out what it actually _meant_. He rioted in his own head, vehemently refuting the idea that he _liked _her, or some other equally repulsive thoughts. He _didn't_, he repeated to himself often,_ like her_ that is. That was impossible. She was still as annoyingly swotty as he remembered from before the war. And she seemed, if possible, even bossier than he remembered. Like her status as war heroine made her opinions and needs more important than anyone else's.

He supposed it did, he conceded with derision. And he hated her more for it.

Yet, he found his eyes had a mind of their own. They'd wander and before he could realize what he was doing, he was staring at her from across the Great Hall. He inspected her hair. She'd learned to tame it somewhat over the years, but it was still laughably frizzy. Her beaver teeth had disappeared years ago. The skin on the bridge of her nose was freckled just enough to stand out but not too much to be distracting, as they had never caught his notice before now. He saw from her weekend muggle attire that she had a diminutive stature and figure, in complete opposition to her larger than life temper. She wasn't ugly, per se, but she wasn't particularly pretty, he thought. At least not enough to warrant his attentions. So why did she have his attention?

Twice, _mortifyingly_, he came to from his considerations to see that her eyes were locked with his. The first time, he looked away as fast as he could, cursing. But the second time he shot her a sneer to cover his hide. That time, he saw her expression long enough to read confusion in the crinkle of her brow. Not anger, just confusion. Draco wondered what kind of expression he'd been making when she'd caught him. He entreated any and every power in the universe that his features hadn't betrayed his own curious thoughts.

During his second week of classes, he was in a especially foul mood. He'd endured consistent pains since the second day of class, with increasing intensity each day. There was also his nasty little problem of having only the most infuriating witch in the world on his mind that was really starting to grate on his nerves, at odd times no less. Times such as first thing in the morning, or the last thing at night just before sleep claimed him.

So it was late in the week as he walked away from another Ancient Runes class, knowing that the pain was about to return, he let off some steam by punching a stone bust that decorated the hallway. It shattered violently to the floor. The shards skidded in the direction of some fourth year, Ravenclaw by the color of her tie, who was also in the hall and suddenly Granger was on his heels accusing him of attacking another student.

"I wasn't," he drawled with as much malice as he could muster, "I simply pushed it of it's pedestal and it broke in her general direction."

Granger crossed her arms and jutted out her chin. "So you're admitting to damaging school property then?"

Draco rolled his eyes, shrugged, and accepted the detention he knew she was going to give him anyway. He caught another one of her confused glances when he didn't fight her on it. He was simply too tired to argue, he reasoned, even while his sixth sense tingled to alert him that she had left.

That night he was pleased to discover that the Room of Requirement also seemed to have the special elusive kind of magic to calm his pains.

He didn't mind the detention as much as he expected to. This time, Granger decided to get her hands dirty too. She conjured a second set of tools and attacked a pile next to him. They worked side by side for a while, silent for the most part, except when Granger found something noteworthy under the rubble. He did his best to ignore her, but when she discovered a whole sofa under a strangely large lump, he set about to clean it so he could relax on it's comfy, albeit ratty, cushions. Draco only enjoyed a quick moment of leisure before he felt a sharp pain in the palm of his right hand.

He dropped his broom and it clattered to the floor with a loud echo. _No!_ His pain wasn't supposed to come back until he left the room! That's how it had worked so far, anyway. He gawked at his hand, pristine aside from some soot and grime.

Then he realized what he thought was an echo was actually Granger's broom that had fallen almost simultaneously with his. She was also hunched over in pain and cradling her right hand in her left. Draco peered around her and saw a slice of bright crimson shining in her cupped palm and a piece of jagged glass on the floor, drenched in a matching shade. He turned his eyes on his own hand again, tracing the imaginary gash there.

Granger sucked in a loud breath. "Will you get over here already and fix this for me?"

Draco opened and shut his mouth a few times, then shook his head snap back to present. "I thought I wasn't allowed to do magic in detention." It was the kind of spite he would give her any other time, but his usual bite was lost in his shock.

"Come on Malfoy," she griped, not seeming to hear his change in tone, "It's my wand hand, I can't do it myself. Just one quick spell and get back to work."

He hovered his wand next to her arm before he obliged her, relishing her vulnerability. To his concern, the instant the his spell erased the wound from her palm, his palm also felt better. His general pains were back to the muted existence he'd come to accept.

_What in Merlin's name...?_

He blinked back and forth between their hands. She hexed him. She _must_ have hexed him, he concluded. Not just his hand but _all_ of his pain had to be because of her. The realization finally dawned on him that she was the common thread in all the places he sought relief. She was in all of his classes, she was there in the Great Hall for meals when his pains reduced, but absent when the dining hall didn't work, and now here in the Room of Requirement. It wasn't enough to make him have detention with her, she had to punish him while he was away from her. How very Slytherin of her.

Well, at least his conscience was vindicated about watching her the last few days. He _didn't_ like her, his body had just sensed something that his brain took longer to figure out. He would have to keep watching her carefully to figure out what she'd done so he could reverse it. And then he'd get his revenge.


	4. Chapter 4

_Any minute now..._

Any minute, Granger was going to come around the corner and Draco would be ready for her. He could feel his sixth sense, that tingly scratchy feeling against his skin, that told him she was getting close. He gripped his Fanged Frisbee and let the anticipation grow.

It had been more than a week since the cut incident in the Room of Requirement. Granger seemed to take little notice of him in the meantime, which made no sense to Draco. If he had hexed someone, he would want to keep a close eye to revel in the effects. He wasn't complaining though, her lack of attention made it that much easier to focus on her every move. He memorized her study schedule. He could tell which of her quills were her favourites based on the bite patterns. He discovered that she made her tea with one sugar, except on the mornings after a late night study session when she used two, which seemed to energize her and curb her attitude. But none of that knowledge helped him. He needed time alone with her, more than a happenchance bump in the halls where she could brush him off and continue on her way. He needed time that he could use to watch her reactions to him specifically, where he could goad her into admitting something.

And that meant more detention.

He hadn't bothered to work too hard on a plan, that seemed redundant. He had enough natural luck for setting her off without much effort, no need to overthink it. And so he found himself in a predatory stance waiting outside the Great Hall, his smuggled Frisbee balanced and ready to fly. Just as expected, her bushy head came into view. Draco released the Frisbee and it found its target in the Co-Head Girl's shoulder, tearing the sleeve of her muggle jumper with a loud satisfying rip.

"Malfoy!" she screeched before bending over to retrieve the contraband. _Merlin, could she start a conversation _without_ first identifying him by surname, _he pondered, but the delicious hysteria in her voice caused the thought to drop_._ Granger bunched her jumper over her hand so that she didn't have to touch the Frisbee's fangs. "You know these have been on Filch's list of forbidden items for years."

Draco pride swelled as he watched her tug at the new hole in the arm of her jumper. "What are you going to do about it, Granger?"

She let out a heavy huff. "Confiscate it. You know the rules." After a quiet smoldering look, Granger turned to continue down the hall.

Draco's mouth dropped open. He spoke before he could stop himself. "That's... is that it?"

"Did you say something?" Granger stopped again and shot him an inquisitive glare. He was so shocked he didn't respond right away. She searched him for what inexplicably felt all too short then turned again to leave.

Draco panicked. Why hadn't he planned this better? He mentally sorted through their past run-ins for inspiration. What could he do to set her off? Threat of bodily harm to another student had worked the last few times. He glanced around but the hall seemed silent in both directions. She was almost out of view and he was running out of time.

An old stand-by it is, then.

"Yes, I suppose it's just like you _mudbloods_, charging in and taking something that doesn't belong to you." He'd placed himself between her and her exit so she had no choice but to look directly at him again. Draco waved his hand casually, meaning to indicate the Frisbee, but he knew she wasn't so dim as to miss his double meaning.

He watched Granger's face go red as a tomato. A scathing retort was brewing, he could almost feel it rumbling in his own gut, but the retort never made it past her lips. Her mouth set carefully, restrained, in a harsh line. She shook her head, and, was he imagining it or was she _laughing _at him?

"Are you trying to earn detention?" She finally gulped out.

_Yes_.

He only glowered at her. A Malfoy was _not _to be laughed at in this manner. Not by the likes of anyone, let alone _her_.

"Oh, Malfoy... I know you're not thick enough to believe that old nonsense. Muggleborns didn't _steal _magic."

Draco fumed silently. Why wasn't she punishing him? He _would _get her to rise to his bait, he just had to find the right strings to pull. Suddenly, unbidden, a memory presented itself. An interrogation. Torture. It had been one of the only times he'd ever seen Granger truly scared. He would never admit it aloud, but he'd been scared then as well. Stooping to using that memory would salt his own wounds, but he was desperate, and her stubborn strength had asked for it. He straightened himself up as tall he could, causing his shadow to loom over her. He reached conspicuously for his wand and choked up on the handle, gripping it like was a short blade.

"Perhaps not... but _what else did you take? Tell the truth!"_

Auntie Bella. He tried to imitate her crazed shriek along with her words. Those words had rung in his head all summer, always punctuated by Granger's whimpers of pain and fright. He screwed up his face, knowing that although he took after his father more, the likeness to his maternal aunt was somewhere in his features. Granger would be sure to find that likeness now.

That had done it. Granger stopped breathing. Her color had drained.

"What. The. Hell?" She placed her palms against the front of his shirt. Maybe it was to push him away, but she ended up holding on as if to brace herself instead. A jolt ripped through his body, leaving his eyes wide.

"You want detention? Have it your way then. Tomorrow night." She extracted herself from the cage of his body where he'd backed her into a wall. She appeared to be regaining her strength. "And _every_ night until you can at least pretend to be a decent human being."

"Tonight," he demanded. He needed to figure out her hex as soon as possible.

She clicked her tongue against her teeth. "You don't dictate your detention to me. _I'm _not the one being punished. Tomorrow."

"Busy tomorrow. Tonight." he repeated. He was pushing his luck but he didn't care.

"_Tomorrow. _It's Saturday night and my ever loving birthday today, so you know. I'll not be spending it with the likes of you." She jutted out her jaw and began to march away but evidently a new thought struck her and she turned half way back.

"Didn't you learn anything from the war?"

It sounded like a genuine question. Her voice was so soft it threw him off his guard for just a moment. He supposed she wanted to hear him say _muggleborns are good people _or a maybe even a more generic _fighting is wrong._ But if he was honest, his only answer was that he didn't have the stomach for it. War. It had wanted too much from him. It had asked him to choose between two impossible paths: failing a mission or prevailing. Either path promised shame and disgust, and his indecision between the two hadn't even spared him that. He was left in a moral grey area, not bad enough to warrant prison, but not good enough to be fully accepted back in society. And if he were brutally honest, he would admit that he wished he could have been wholly on one side, even if that side had been the losing one, just so he could feel like he fully belonged.

Well, he might at times be brutal, but he wasn't honest. And he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of any admittance.

They had a staring contest before he finally trusted his voice again.

"Fine. Tomorrow."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Honestly, a very small and uncomfortable part of Hermione was actually glad for the turbulence with Malfoy. She was mere weeks into her school year and already missing the thrill of her old hijinks with Harry and Ron. She had always wished for a normal, quiet, school year. This year she wished it harder than most because she deserved some peace after all that danger. Didn't she?

Maybe this is why people always said to be careful what you wish for, she thought, because for the love of Godric she was _bored._

So far, she had no cause for a late night prowl of the castle, no clandestine research in the library. There was no hushed theorizing in the common room after the rest of the Gryffindors went to bed, no illegal potion-making in an abandoned bathroom. It wasn't that she missed the rule-breaking, really, she tried to reason, she just needed a challenge.

And Draco Malfoy sure was challenging.

She'd begun to feel something was off with the blond since the night of his first detention. She found it far too easy to slip back into all the old dark speculations about Malfoy's intentions. Yes, he was still terrible to her, but the familiarity of the rivalry was an odd comfort.

She tried to ignore the signs in the beginning. Eventually, though, she had to concede that this time was different. He was not her same old childhood tormentor. She felt his eyes on her as soon as she entered any classroom they shared. It was like he knew she was coming before she arrived. And his face didn't portray his usual stoicism or haughtiness, it wore more curiosity and frustration. Once, and truly she wasn't sure if she had made this up, he almost looked relieved to see her. _Relieved! _As soon as she thought it she laughed it off as ridiculous, but the notion lingered in the back of her head. It tickled her consciousness every time she caught him watching her out of the corner of his eye.

She watched him back. Discreetly, of course, for she realized quickly that he diverted his attention if he sensed her own attentions reflected back at him. Even under lowkey surveillance, she noticed things about him that she hadn't ever recognized in six years of school. Like, although she'd always assumed Potions was his favourite subject, he seemed most attentive during Ancient Runes. He'd gotten his appetite back somewhat, and she found he had a strong preference to apples. He had exquisite reflexes, she noted, as he caught a text book in mid-fall from his desk one day.

Her new revelations about him didn't explain his new scrutiny. Nor did it explain the shadow of a shudder she detected when he'd done his Bellatrix impersonation.

And that impression, that memory, had affected her more than she let on. She hoped she hadn't let on as much, anyway. She'd rushed out of the corridor as fast as she could after their interaction and allowed herself to collapse against a lonely wall two halls over.

"Hey, Hermione. Happy birthday."

So the hall wasn't empty. At least she was in friendly waters now, she thought as she registered the owner of the voice.

"Hey, Gin. Thank you."

"I've been looking for you all day. I wanted to make sure you didn't spend your birthday in the library." The redhead teased, not unkindly. "Care to celebrate? I could pinch some confiscated firewhiskey from Filch's office during my Head rounds."

"Ginny!"

"Kidding." Ginny's eyes sparkled mischievously. "The offer to celebrate is still good, though."

"Oh, uh..." Hermione looked at her with guilt. "Thanks, but I already had plans. I got special permission to visit Hogsmeade with Ron and..." she trailed off.

Ginny suddenly joined her against the wall, sagging deeply into the stone. "Ron and Harry. It's okay." She gave Hermione a sad shrug. "I'm not a doll, you know. I won't break if you mention him."

Hermione grimaced. "Sorry."

Ginny picked herself off the wall and waved her hand. "Alright, have fun, then."

"Wait, Ginny. Speaking of Filch's office, would you mind bringing this up for me?" Hermione offered the Fanged Frisbee cautiously to her friend.

"Is that what happened to your jumper?" Ginny's face softened again, throwing her gaze at the rip near Hermione's shoulder.

"Right, yeah. Forgot about that." Hermione pulled out her wand and the fabric stitched back together, leaving no trace of the tear.

"Story there?" Ginny asked, but she didn't wait for an answer. "Count this as my present to you then, if Filch is in his office when I go to drop it off you know I'll get stuck dealing with him."

Hermione gave the most grateful smile she could. "Best gift I've gotten all day."

Actually, it was the only gift she had received all day. That is, until she reached the Three Broomsticks and found her best friends already halfway into their butterbeers, an untouched third waiting for her to Ron's right.

"Happy birthday, Hermione," they chorused and lifted their glasses to her. She settled into her seat and sipped from her glass while Harry and Ron finished the conversation they were having before she walked in.

"Ambrosius Flume is missing, too. I saw his wife when I stopped at Honeydukes on the way in. She hasn't seen him in two days. Not like him." Ron muttered low over his glass.

"What are you boys talking about?" Hermione asked, sharper than she meant to. They exchanged conspiratorial looks which turned sheepish under Hermione's glare. "All three of us, we just can't be content with a normal life, can we? The war is over and we won. Why are we still talking like someone is lurking out there? No one's going missing, and Malfoy isn't up to something." She hadn't meant to mention Malfoy, but as she chided her friends, her temper carried her away.

"Why, what has that ferret done now?" Ron asked, looking to Harry to see if he knew anything. Harry just shrugged and focused on Hermione.

"What? Nothing. Well..." she stammered, wishing she could take back her rant. Both boys continued to stare at her. "Fine. He and I kind of got into it on the first day of classes. A duel of sorts."

"I'll get him expelled!" Harry said immediately. "I can't believe you didn't tell me before now. I've seen you loads since."

"I have it handled, Harry," she said and pursed her lips. She was thankful for their concern of course, but sometimes their protectiveness seemed misplaced. She wasn't some damsel in distress, after all. "I fended him off with an easy disarm, lesson number one from Dumbledore's Army, you might remember. Anyway, he's been appropriately punished."

"Why anyone would let that git back near the school that he almost destroyed is beyond me," Ron grumbled. His face was stormy; eyes darkened, cheeks tinged an angry flush, and mouth heavy with a scowl. Slowly he appeared to remember Hermione's presence and his features lightened. "Unlucky for him, you're a quick draw. Quick here, too." He let his rough thumb caress her temple. As his strokes around her hairline became more tender, Hermione averted her eyes in discomfort.

_It's only because Harry's here watching, right?_

Well, she _was _still getting used to Ron as a boyfriend, there were bound to be some growing pains. She'd known him for years as just a friend, and she'd seen him as a boyfriend to Lavender during that disastrous physical courtship. Between the two, she hadn't been sure exactly what to expect out of this new development in their relationship. Ron was the same, yet different. Pleasant, yet uncomfortable. The summer before she returned to school had been too full of rebuilding to spare much time for cozying up, and since she'd left for Hogwarts, she hadn't gotten an opportunity to decide exactly how she felt about their new status.

Ron seemed to sense the tension. He pulled his hand away from her forehead and slid a package down to table to her. "For you."

Hermione pulled apart the hasty bow and found a handful of Honeydukes sugar quills and peppermint toads. "Thank you, Ron. This is great!" She put a little extra sweetness in her voice and placed her hand over his to make up for her earlier reaction. Ron looked suitably appeased. Harry coughed uncomfortably from across the table.

"Hermione, I... got so caught up in my new job that I, erm..." His cheeks were pink and his eyes were directed at Ron's present.

"It's alright, Harry, you didn't have to get me a present." She smiled, then an idea hit her. "Actually, I have a request that can count as your present to me." Her smile turned devious. "Give me permission for the Restricted Section in the library! You're a professor now, you can do that."

Harry's eyebrows raised to his hairline. "Oh yeah? What at you looking for these days?"

"Oh nothing," she said in a sing-song voice. "But you never know when it could come in handy for a bit of light reading."


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione's visit with Ron and Harry, even fraught with awkwardness and unspoken things, had worked wonders to recharge her energy. She felt brighter and lighter, practically skipping back to the castle. It was as if she had accidentally gotten in the way of a cheering charm, though as the effects carried her throughout the night and well into the next day (much longer than even a perfectly cast charm) she knew it was a natural high.

The next night she made it to the Room of Requirement before Malfoy and, in the giving mood that she was, she decided to get to work herself. Discovering lost items was soothing anyway, so much that she almost didn't realize when Malfoy finally joined her. Only his deep sigh alerted his presence. Without looking, Hermione floated his broom and dust pan out to him behind her back. He sighed deeper, but eventually Hermione heard trudging sounds that meant he had started work somewhere on the other side of their clearing.

Hermione tried her best to keep her nose down. She wanted to pretend she was still alone and keep her good mood in tact. It was all she could do to ignore that persistent prickle on the back of her neck that meant Malfoy was watching her again. Her eyes flicked over to him reflexively and found she was right.

She whipped her head back around and slammed down her broom in frustration. Why was she letting him steal her attention? Draco Malfoy was hardly the most interesting thing in the room, far from it. In fact, she bet herself that anything she could pick up she could find more interesting than the blond boy.

Taking the challenge, she dug with vigor until she pulled her first item from the soot. It was a Quidditch keeper's helmet with an ugly looking gash on the left earflap. She shuddered as she imagined the bludger strike that would have caused it and suddenly she couldn't stop picturing Ron as the keeper. In her mind's eye, Ron was lying on a stretcher, hovering above the pitch. The deep red blood trickling out from under the helmet met the pale white of his face in a jarring show of opposites. Her stomach turned. Somewhere behind her, she thought she heard Malfoy groan, bringing her back to present. She cast the helmet aside, rejecting the violent image from her consciousness.

Next, she pulled a book out of the dust. Under the grime she could make out a rendering of tarot cards. She scoffed as she flung the book back into the pile. A tiny clinking noise rang out. She lifted the book to find it had just crushed a phial of what appeared to be congealed, poorly-brewed forgetfulness potion.

Two socks came out of her next pile, one with blue stripes, and one that probably used to be white. The mismatched collection tugged at her memory, conjuring an image of Dobby, the house elf who'd hoarded socks since he was freed from his servitude. Dobby's death- his _murder_\- weighed more on Hermione's conscience than most, mostly because his end was a direct result of trying to help her.

The guilt threatened to pull her in entirely; the cheer that she'd milked since the night before was finally spent. But another groan came from behind.

"Come on witch, don't you think you've tortured me enough?"

Malfoy's voice was laced with pent up frustration. It was louder than she'd expected. He must have crept up closer to her while she was distracted.

Hermione masked her features quickly, she had no desire to let him in on her reverie. She glanced at the clock and replied with as much poise as she could muster. "For now. Our time is over for today." He came into her peripheral vision, and she couldn't help but notice his aura. His body was rigid, tense like a tightly pressed coil, and his eyes burned dark with competing emotions.

"Not what I meant, Granger," he growled. "I'm talking about whatever curse you put on me."

With that, she turned to face him fully. _Curse? _"What are you on about?" At first, she thought it was just a throwaway accusation. But the longer she took him in, the more it occurred to her that he was being perfectly serious. His mouth showed no sign of a sarcastic smirk. He stood perched almost on the tips of his toes, apparently waiting for her to admit something.

"Come on, we both know you're not an imbecile, so don't play at it. The curse. Whatever you did to me that makes me feel your pain and allows you to project emotions to me. If this is some kind of trick for me to 'walk a mile in your shoes so I can come to understand and respect you', you're in for a rude awakening. It won't work. I'll just resent you more." Malfoy's eyes bore into her, searching..

"You… you're feeling my pain?" She looked down at her palm and traced an invisible line where she had sliced herself during his last detention. "You felt that?"

"Again, don't play dumb."

Hermione bit her lip. "And emotions?"

"Just now it was blame and sorrow. Earlier it was worry... fear." Malfoy's face drooped slightly, just momentarily, and Hermione had an intense feeling that he was not a stranger to these emotions.

"Those... were my emotions..." she admitted with a gasp. Her eyebrows knitted together. "You're feeling my pain _and_ my emotions!" Suddenly her heart was beating wildly, and her thoughts raced just as fast. How was this possible?

"Honestly, Granger, you can drop the act," he snarled.

Hermione pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest. "If you can feel my emotions, you must feel the overwhelming confusion I'm experiencing right now, yeah?" Malfoy bowed his head slightly in agreement. "So explain how I'm faking that!" She turned away. He made her so mad she could hardly think! She needed to gather her thoughts.

"The great Hermione Granger admitting she's confused? A ruse, I'm sure." He scoffed.

She whirled around on him. "For the last time, I didn't curse you! The only magic I aimed in your direction was to deflect _your _hex, and... oh!" Suddenly it was like a torch was lit in her brain.

"What?" There was malice in his tone, but an underlying curiosity as well. She'd be lying if she said she didn't relish it- Draco Malfoy looking to her for answers, desperate for them.

"Isn't it obvious?" She didn't know why she started whispering, but she couldn't help it. Her words began to spill out in almost soundless breaths. "I didn't put a spell on you. _You_ did. Whatever that spell was that you tried to cast on me on the first day of class, it bounced back to you when I disarmed you."

His mouth dropped open, then snapped shut. He shook his head. "No. It's something you've done, I know it." But he sounded less sure now.

Hermione stepped closer, accusingly entering his space. She pointed a finger straight to his heart. Or where a heart would be if he had one, she supposed. "You shot a spell at me that you didn't even know what it did and now you're reaping what you sowed. And if you're feeling my pain, physical and emotional, because of it, then I don't feel sorry for you in the least."

Malfoy stared at her with dagger eyes for what seemed to be the longest minute of her life. "Yes, I can _tell_," he finally bit out.

Hermione watched as his gaze drifted down to her hand, anger smoldering in his stare. She considered him for a moment longer, then stomped toward the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Oh, you can't read my thoughts, too?" She asked, allowing a teasing inflection as she cocked her head back at him. "Good to know I'll still be able to keep some things to myself." She pressed up against the door. "If you must know, I'm going to the library. One of us has to figure out what this thing is in order to reverse it, and I've got all my galleons on me."

He snorted. "How many is that exactly?"

Of course he couldn't help making a dig at her financial status. She glowered at him but his mask of haughty disdain remained.

"What makes you think you're going to find this spell in the Hogwarts archives? I found it in a book at Malfoy Manor, and I highly doubt our professors would ever deign to teach that in these halls."

Hermione had already thought of this obstacle, though, and she smiled at him in return. Out of her pocket she pulled a slip of parchment that bore Harry's signature and waved it playfully just out of his reach. "Oh, I don't know. The Restricted Section might have something useful to say on the subject." She was feeling bold, and winked, actually _winked, _at Malfoy as she said her last words, a giggle threatening at the back of her throat. She left before he could retort again.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

As soon as the door closed, the pains that marked Granger's absence reignited from their dull slumber.

_This is preposterous!_

Draco threw his dust bin to the side. He refused to believe that _he _was responsible for his own unfortunate situation! Although, he had to admit that Granger was usually, consistently, generally, always, _obnoxiously _right when it came to matters of magic. And there was a wry poetic air about his plight, receiving his comeuppance by his own hand, which he'd probably find gratifying if it wasn't happening to him.

Anyway, her galleons were safe, because he had no doubt in his mind that she could sniff out the answer somehow. In fact, he was feeling downright... _excited _about the prospect of her research.

Wait. Excited? That felt out of place in the doom and gloom of his thoughts. Could it be that he could now feel her emotions even when he wasn't in her presence? What fresh torment is this? He thought it couldn't get any worse than feeling that girl's emotions, but now the spell had him second guessing which emotion was his and which was hers. If he couldn't trust his own thoughts, then what did he even have left?

At least he had her insatiable need for knowledge working on his side this time. If he was very lucky, she might have the answer by tomorrow night's detention.

...

She didn't have the answer the next night, or the next. By the third subsequent detention, she'd begun to bring an armload of books with her and read instead of cleaning. Her manners were becoming more and more frazzled, until Draco couldn't tell the difference between her frustration and his, mingling in his psyche. It was both of theirs, he realized, the first thing he could honestly say they shared without disgusting himself.

Achingly slowly, the weekend came around again. He didn't see Granger all morning on Saturday, but he had a suspicion where she'd be. He was right, of course, he found her tucked in the stacks deep in the library. Part of him wanted to stay with her. Only to get any news as soon as she found it, he rationalized. Certainly _not _for any other reason. For appearances sake, he couldn't bring himself to do so. Even on a weekend when the library was sparsely populated, it was never fully abandoned. There would be too many eyes, too many questions about what Draco Malfoy was doing hanging around Gryffindor's muggleborn princess. He still had some shred of a reputation left to uphold, didn't he?

Instead of answering that question, he trudged up to the seventh floor and made himself as comfortable as allowable on the ratty old couch in the burned shell of the Room of Requirement. After an hour or so he decided he needed a distraction, so he started his detention work early. He peeked at the clock every few minutes but the minute hand was dragging. Draco wondered vaguely if time worked different inside the Room's walls, if he could go back out to the hall and ask the door to give him a space where time flew so he didn't have to bear the agony of waiting. Before he could test the theory, Granger burst in.

"You're late," he said, pointing at the clock. His pain relaxed as she entered and a happy warmth replaced his burning fever. Was that his own optimism or was he feeling her emotions again? Well, that's a ridiculous question, Draco was never an optimist. If he was feeling upbeat, it had to be leaching from her. And if she was excited, that meant she found something!

"This isn't my detention, I'm not the one being punished here." She responded in deadpan. She had a death grip on an thick tome under her arm. He could feel her barely bridled restraint burgeoning but she didn't speak again just yet. Granger looked around at the work he'd gotten done and smiled lightly.

"You're torturing me again, Granger." His growl was low with warning.

She winced. "Fine. But you're not going to be any happier when you hear what I found."

"But you did find something?"

She squirmed under his glare.

"Come on, then. Out with it."

She expelled a breathy sigh and finally looked him in the eye. "I found a description of an old spell. There's no incantation included, so it's hard to be sure, but the book said it's for _disobedient women_ so..."

"That's what it said in my family's book!"

"Exactly! And the symptoms seem on point. You feeling my emotions and pain. But..."

"But _what?"_

"There was one bit I couldn't quite match. Have you been miserable when you're apart from me lately?" She looked at him with what appeared to be genuine, sweet concern.

He snorted. "I'm miserable in your company, too, Granger. Or are you so obtuse that you can't tell?"

The witch shrugged the comment off. "More so away from me, if I've found the right spell. Like, in pain, perhaps?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Maybe I'm just a miserable person. Ever thought of that?" For some reason he couldn't describe, he didn't want to confirm her suspicions yet. In case she was right and he really didn't like the answer, he needed some kind of plausible deniability.

Granger rolled her eyes so hard that he thought she might strain them. "Only every day."

Draco angled his body away. He didn't want her to see his expression when she answered his next question.

"So what part of it am I not going to be happy about when I find out?" He braced himself, then added, "aside from the whole thing, I mean."

He could feel her eyes on him. His skin prickled. Instead of answering she took a step closer and said, "I'm going to try something."

Draco glared over his shoulder at her. "Try what?"

"Close your eyes, Malfoy," she commanded.

"Like hell. What are you going to do?"

"Just close your eyes," she repeated, her voice clear and even. They were at a standoff. He argued with himself internally and finally relented. Gryffindors are nothing if not bullheaded, so he knew he wasn't going to win this one. He squeezed his eyelids together with a deep frown to convey his reluctance. The next thing he knew, there was a soft and pleasant pressure on his hand. It was the sweetest relief. The sensation radiated from his hand up his arm and slowly enveloped his whole being. It was the first time since the beginning of school that he was entirely pain free. The pain wasn't just dulled, it was completely gone. Even the trouble of his raging borrowed emotions were quieted. He let his face fall from his usual sneer and his body crumpled in. He heard a gasp which pulled him back. His eyes popped open and he noticed where the relief was coming from: Granger's hand on his own. He withdrew faster than a whip.

"What was that?"

Hermione nodded solemnly, apparently believing her little experiment had proven something. "Like I said, I found out about the spell you cast. It's called the 'love prison'. It's the only thing I found that makes sense. You're bound to me."

"_Love...!_ _Bound... _to you?" Draco spluttered before regaining his composure. "Absolutely not. Give it here." He didn't wait for Granger to hand over the book; he grabbed it from her hand and threw it open on the dusty floor.

"What page?"

"Malfoy-"

"_What page?"_

"One hundred and twenty-eight."

Draco pulled his wand from his pocket and sent the pages fluttering. "Love Prison." His voice was quiet but since there was no other noise in the room, of course the know-it-all heard him.

"It's barbaric, really." She plopped down next to him on the floor. "A medieval wizarding law that allowed husbands to punish their wives for the specific disobedience of infidelity. From what I can tell, the law is still on the books today. They just forgot to abolish it because no one even remembers it exists. I'll change that if I end up in the Ministry..."

"Will you shut _up_? How am I supposed to read about it if you won't give me a moment of peace?"

Granger pursed her lips but defiantly kept them shut.

Draco's eyes dart back and forth, scanning the page as quickly as he could. The love prison spell appeared to be just like it sounded- his heart was tied to hers. When she was gone he would feel pain,. When she was sad he would feel that, too. Only skin to skin contact would fully relieve his symptoms, but it would always be a temporary cure. His face fell when he discovered that the book did not tell him what the true cure was. Naturally, as that was the only part he actually needed. He read it all again, hoping to find something that would make him feel better. He was about to give up hope when, at the end of the passage, he found words to give him pause. At first, the notation made him nearly retch. Then his eyes widened in realization.

"You're with Weasley, right?"

"Correct," she affirmed, but it sounded more like a question. _Where are you going with this?_ he read in the pointed arch of her brow.

"How long has it been an unhappy relationship?"

"I… what? It hasn't been. Why would you say that?"

"It says right here." Draco jabbed his index finger at the text. Granger squinted over his shoulder. "If you were in _mutual romantic love_ with someone other than myself, I would be dead. I guess you don't actually love him like you thought."

"Yes I do!" Granger's breath was hot against the skin of his neck.

"Oh yeah, obviously. I'm quite dead, aren't I?"

"I do love him!"

He made a face.

"I do!"

"Who are you trying to convince, sweetheart?" Draco put extra malice into the endearment, knowing it would hurt her even more. His smile was cocky now. Even in the position he was in, he could lavish in at least a partial victory over her.

"Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it's not this spell," she said, grasping for the book. Grasping for something else that was intangible and fading.

"You said it yourself, it's the only thing that makes sense." He gloated. Ignoring her panic and sorrow that was bouncing around his own head, giddiness rose in his chest. If he had to be saddled to her, he could lord this over her.

"Not this…" she mumbled as her eyes devoured the pages.

He saw her weakness and something clicked in his brain. He felt a tinge of warning, but couldn't help twisting the knife further.

"Or maybe Weasley's the one that doesn't love you the way you think?"

There, that did it. He won this round. Granger's face changed to confusion and dread. Full devastation. Then, as quickly as it came, Draco felt the tumult of her mood shift before he could even read it in her body language. Her expression morphed into rage. She slammed the book closed.

"There must be another answer. I'll find it, you know I will." She shoved the book into her bag with difficulty and got up, stomping to the door.

"What about detention?" he asked teasingly. She shot him a poisonous glare.

"I think you can manage without me this time." Then she was gone. His victory was short lived. The pain sparked back in his chest and his skin prickled with the warning of the fire about to ignite.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione was on a tear. Electricity jumped through her veins and carried her towards the library on swift feet.

_How dare that smarmy little ferret?_ She fumed silently. How dare he have any assumptions about her relationship!

But his revelation about that spell was true, the proof was in black and white print. How could she have missed something so important?

What she wished now more than anything was that she had been wrong, and she could count on just one hand how many times she'd wished that in her life. If she had been right and Malfoy was afflicted with _this _spell, the love prison, it meant that something was off between her and Ron. And that was just inconceivable. After years of dancing around each other and finally coming to terms with and expressing their feelings, it was just _not possible _that they weren't endgame. But Malfoy had planted a black seed of doubt in her heart. She couldn't bear to think it, but she could feel it- was it her that didn't fully love Ron, or vice versa? Both sounded equally painful.

So that's all there was to it, she decided. This wasn't the right spell. It just wasn't. The only logical conclusion was that there was another similar spell, and she would take all the time in the world to find it.

Hermione stopped in her tracks outside of the library door. She needed to prove something to Malfoy now, and having days, possibly weeks more of research ahead did nothing to quench her thirst for victory. Suddenly she had a new plan. She changed course and raced away, and when she'd stopped again, she was panting on the top step of the owlery.

The owl reached Ron and back rather quickly, she thought, but apparently he was much closer than she expected. He was in Hogsmeade doing some business with George, and yes, he'd answered, he could have time for her and he'd love if she came to see him.

They met outside the Three Broomsticks. Hermione spotted his orange hair easily even in the fading daylight. She raced over and practically flung herself at him, only his keeper instincts saving them from an unceremonious tumble to the ground. She was all adrenaline and fervency, grasping high around his broad shoulders and forcing him to bend to meet her kiss. Her lips were demanding and, after a moment of shock, he responded with equal warmth. Slowly he pulled away and looked over her panting form with his trademark lopsided grin.

"I've missed you, too," he said huskily.

She felt a crack of disappointment as she looked back at him. Was it because he cut the kiss short, or was it something else? Was Malfoy just getting under her skin?

"Oh, Ron," she whimpered, her voice growing watery. "It'd be so much easier if you'd come back to Hogwarts."

Ron leaned into her again and nuzzled her hair, kissing her chastely on the temple. "I know. But we'll be fine, yeah? I'll see you over Christmas and then it'll be summer before you know it."

Hermione thought momentarily that it was probably a bad sign that she'd meant that it would be easier to prove her relationship to Malfoy if she could rub it in his pointy face. She stayed quiet and pouted her lower lip, fine with letting Ron believe that she'd actually meant their relationship would be easier.

He pulled back again and observed her frown. "I couldn't come back, 'Mione. I had something more important to do."

"What's more important than your education?" _Or me?_ she thought petulantly.

Ron threw a sad look into the distance behind her. Hermione followed his eyes and found George down the street. The other redhead was standing in front of Zonko's, staring with an unsettling expression on his face. Not annoyed, not impatient, just blank. He scratched absentmindedly where his left ear used to be.

"You don't have any siblings so it's okay if you don't get it. I lost a brother, but George... George lost more than that. He lost part of himself. He can't look in mirrors. He stops talking midsentence like someone's going to finish it for him. He hasn't teased me in months. Never thought I'd miss that, really." Ron squinted in George's direction.

"I just couldn't leave him on his own. He's never… Fred was…" But Ron had reached his limit of loquaciousness. He scuffed his foot on the ground. Usually the implication that Hermione couldn't understand something would make her steam at the ears, but the unabashed pain in Ron's eyes made Hermione feel silly and selfish. Ron was a good brother, a good man. An anchor tugged at her heart. She leaned in on her tiptoes and placed another sweet kiss on the corner of his mouth. He rewarded her with another lopsided grin and Hermione felt a blush warm her cheeks.

Malfoy was, for the first time in weeks, the furthest thing from her mind. She only remembered him hours later as she was sneaking back into the castle. A flash of white blond hair passed her in the corridor.

"Oh you're not quite dead, huh?" She called out, parroting back his words from earlier in the night.

He didn't bother acting surprised to see her. He stopped walking but stayed facing away. "Why would I be?"

Hermione circled him like she was stalking prey. "Oh I don't know, I've just spent the day with Ron is all. Thought with that spell you might have…" she trailed off and shrugged, but pierced him with a defiant stare.

Malfoy spoke evenly with dignified precision. "Don't boast, Granger, it's unbecoming. Not that spending the day with that tosser is anything to brag about, you know. Anyway, since I _am_ alive you're only proving my point. One or both of you isn't actually in it all the way." He paused and tilted his head towards her so they were eye to eye.

"I suppose I could say I'm happy for you that you enjoyed your little illusion of a relationship, but unlike you I see no purpose in charade."

Hermione silenced a gasp by biting hard on her lower lip.

"Ten points from-"

"Oh please," Malfoy cut her off. "We both know your instrument of choice is detention. And I think it's finally clear why. You're desperate for some real male company."

The silence that followed was heavy. Hermione couldn't respond, it was like the wind had been knocked out of her. She blinked, breaking their eye contact and the power he had over her. He straightened back up and without a further glance, stomped away with his school robes billowing in his wake.

The next night, Hermione was camped out on the couch in the Room of Requirement, surrounded by as many books as she had been able to smuggle out of the Restricted section. The clock ticked the minutes by annoyingly loudly in the cavernous loneliness of the room. Eventually, when the clock told her Malfoy was exactly two hours and seven minutes late for detention, she slammed her book closed.

He wasn't coming and she was getting no where in her reading.

She huffed to herself. What did she care if he didn't come to detention anymore? She hadn't given him an exact number of times he had to attend, so if she wanted, she could call it over. And contrary to his assertion, she didn't want to have to spend her evenings with a former Death Eater anyway. So what if the spell caused him pain when he wasn't around her? He seemed to be making the decision to live with it, so why should she care?

Why, indeed?

Well, at least out of intellectual curiosity she would still try to find the cure.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"_Mister Malfoy!_"

Draco came to with an unusually stern-looking Professor McGonagall in his view. Unusual in that she was more stern than he was used to, not that she wasn't usually stern. By her volume, Draco guessed that it was at least the third time she had called his name.

"I'm sorry, professor?'

The older witch's expression softened slightly and she said more quietly, "You don't look well. If you're too ill to pay attention, perhaps you should pay a visit to Madame Pomfrey?'"

Draco's pains had started to get worse since the 'touching incident' a few days ago. Even when Granger was close like during their lessons, the subdued relief wasn't good enough anymore. The pains had become more intense and he was finding it harder and harder to concentrate on anything else. He must have been making a pained face.

He looked up and made eye contact with Granger to his right. He couldn't let her know it was getting worse. He could already feel her suspicion and worry pull on his own gut.

"No, professor. I'm sorry."

Both McGonagall and Granger looked dubious about his answer, but the former returned to her lesson without further comment. As soon as the lecture finished, Draco bolted from his seat, desperate to avoid a run in with the Gryffindor.

He must have stood too fast because his head went all dizzy and black spots started to pop up in his vision. He was vaguely aware of the floor rushing up to meet his face.

His first sense to return was his hearing. Everything was muffled, like he was flying his broom through a giant wind gust. His sight started to come back, hazy at first. His classmates had given him a wide perimeter. No one, it seemed, cared to get closer to check if he was alive. Well, no one except the witch with wild mane of chocolate brown hair that suddenly appeared over him.

"Malfoy?" Granger whispered.

He couldn't tell if he was actually hearing her or if he just read her lips.

Then he felt a jolt originating at his forehead and his wrist simultaneously. He blinked as the classroom came back into focus. Granger was checking his pulse on his arm and his temperature near his temple. Her touch had revived him. He shook her off, ignoring the ache that immediately flooded back in his senses. Draco jumped up and ran again before the class's mutterings could become clearer, or Granger could reach for him again.

As if that one episode wasn't embarrassing enough, he fainted again as he tried to leave Ancient Runes class later that day.

But the worst was when he collapsed that evening trying to leave the Great Hall. He had the whole school as an audience for that one. It must have taken Granger longer to get to him because when he woke up the last time, he was surrounded by professors. The new Muggle Studies professor was to his right, along with McGonagall, and to his left were Potter and Flitwick, and the giant oaf Hagrid lingered in the background. Draco couldn't tell where Granger had touched him this time, she'd removed her hand too quickly.

"Mister Malfoy, I really must insist that you head to Madame Pomfrey's this time," came McGonagall's Scottish brogue over the dinner time din.

"No!" And it was then that he finally gave in to what he'd been trying to escape for days. "I actually don't have time. I've got... detention to get to." He refused to look up but the satisfaction was rolling off Granger in revolting self-important waves.

Flitwick squeaked up. "I daresay, given the circumstances, you could make it up another time."

"No..." he moaned, quite pathetically if he had to admit.

"It's alright, professors, I'll escort him."

Draco noticed that Granger didn't say _where _she would escort him, so she wasn't technically lying to them.

The two walked in silence all the way to the seventh floor corridor. It wasn't until they were in the privacy of their burned out room when she rounded on him.

"It gets worse the longer you're away from me, doesn't it?"

He didn't acknowledge her.

"Should we tell a teacher?"

That got his attention. "Absolutely not! And don't even think of telling Pothead."

She crossed her arms in return. "This isn't very fair to me."

"Fair to you? I happen to think this whole thing is pretty skewed in your favor. Who's feeling whose pain here?"

"And whose fault is that?" Granger bit back and raised a contentious eyebrow. "Anyway, it _is _unfair to me. It's unfair on my conscience. Your life hinges on me being unhappy for the rest of mine."

Draco rolled his eyes, but Granger continued pointedly.

"All I can hope for is unrequited love or none at all."

Draco pouted at the floor. "I'm not stopping you."

"Like hell you're not. I couldn't live with your death on my hands."

There were more emotions coming from her than he could name. He put up his arms as if that would protect him from the onslaught.

"You didn't seem to care when you went on your date with Weasel."

He had her there. She toed a pile of soot. "That was different, I wasn't sure about the spell then."

"Weren't you?" he challenged.

Granger stood stationary for a long while. When she finally spoke again, the fire had returned to her eyes. "If I do this for you, I have some rules."

Draco eyed her suspiciously. "Do _what _for me, exactly?"

She acted as if she didn't hear him and held up one finger.

"First: no using the term mudblood or any other derogatory words for my blood status." She waited for him to acknowledge. He opened his mouth to retort but Granger let her raised index finger tick back and forth.

"Ah ah ah..." she warned and pursed her lips. Eventually he dipped his head in acquiescence. She held up another finger.

"Second: no badmouthing my friends."

He snorted and she made a face at him.

"Fine, whatever." he said in a huff. "And the third?"

"The third is that I can add to these rules at any time if other problems arise."

"What? That's not fair!"

"Again with the fairness problem." She lowered her hand to her hip. "The way I see it, you got what you deserved. You were the one that cast the spell and you tried to imprison _me_. The fact that I'm even here is far better than you deserve. If the spell had worked and you had me beneath your shoe, would you be trying to help me?"

Draco thought to himself. No, probably not. He might have flaunted it. Finally he spoke again. "So, again, what are you proposing?"

"I figured we could keep our 'detentions' here. We can use the time to study. How often I suppose depends on how long you can go without me. We can test it?"

"I suppose," he answered.

"Then we can sit here," she plopped down on the couch and looked up at him, holding his stare until he sat uncomfortably down next to her. She moved her hand over so the back of hers touched the back of his. Instantly his ache melted away again.

"We could sit here just like this and do our own separate things. No need to talk or anything." She shifted slowly so that more of the skin on her fingers made contact with his. Draco suppressed a groan. More skin certainly felt even better.

"Okay?" she asked. She could mean to ask if he was okay with the general plan, or if he was okay with the amount of contact they had, if it was too much or too little. Draco decided not to clarify. He was just looking at their hands awkwardly resting against each other at the knuckles. He swallowed.

"Okay," he croaked out.


	7. Chapter 7

Day one of their agreement was precisely as uncomfortable as Hermione expected. Malfoy was brooding and stiff. He refused to look her in the eye and, as promised, went about doing his own thing without so much as a word of greeting to her. She'd call him 'distant' if weren't so laughably far from the truth; no matter how far he tried to stretch himself away, there was never more distance than their wingspan between them.

The room was so silent that when he addressed her out of the blue about an hour into their time, she nearly fell off the couch.

"Jumpy, aren't we? Brave Gryffindor such as yourself?" He said, his tone lilting with unconcealed amusement. "I only asked how your essay was coming along."

"You startled me. Wasn't expecting small talk." She pulled her hand away from him to readjust her seating, ignoring his sharp intake of breath at their lack of contact.

"I wasn't asking for the sake of conversation," he said through clenched teeth. "If you haven't noticed, I am right-handed as well."

Hermione looked down at the space between them where Malfoy's right hand was still outstretched to her. They had been sitting with her left hand maintaining their connection and her right hand free to work. "Of course. We could switch sides now if you like, I'm nearly finished anyway." She stood and allowed him to shift down the couch into her former spot and walked around to the other side. His left hand snaked toward her. She didn't immediately take it, and after a minute he looked up, prompting her with a grimace. She let her right hand meet his. Silence resumed.

They had only intended to meet a couple of nights per week but, entirely by accident, ended up together almost every night. Hermione found the quiet in the remains of the Room of Requirement more peaceful than anywhere else in the castle and had taken to studying there most days. Malfoy, it seemed, had the same idea. Without discussion, they took up their spots side by side on the couch as if there was nothing strange about it.

After several awkward false starts, they worked out some kinks regarding positioning, depending on what the situation called for. If they both needed their dominant hand to write, for instance, Hermione found the best way to stay connected was with their ankles locked around each other- pants legs hiked up, and socks rolled down. If Hermione had homework to do and Malfoy had leisure time, which happened on occasion (since she was taking more courses than he was) they would sit with him to the left, hands held between them.

Yes, _held._

Malfoy complained early on that when Hermione wrote, she had a tendency to jerk her body around, which inevitably broke their skin contact.

"Well I have an idea, but I don't think you'll like it," she said when he grumbled for the third time in one night.

He sighed in return. "I already don't like any of this. What've you got?"

She hesitated then, trying to choose her words carefully. "We can... clasp hands."

"Hold hands?" He spluttered. "You mean you want me to hold your hand?"

"No, I don't _want_ you to, you prat, but have you got a better idea?" She gave him one of her best challenging glares, then faltered as she moved to put the suggestion to action. Even though the offer amounted to nothing more than necessity, the idea that he might completely rebuff her held a palpable sting. She found that, regardless of being a fully grown witch, and in a relationship to boot, her inner preteen girl was still at home in her psyche, wondering why the handsome boy didn't want her. She held her hand out with her thumb extended and her other four fingers rigidly together. "If it makes you feel any better, we don't have to, erm, interlock fingers or anything..."

He regarded her offering and took it resignedly. "It doesn't," but even as he said it, the pain relief swept over his face and Hermione couldn't help the tiny grin that grew on her own.

And if holding hands weren't intimate enough, they were in a totally different league when it came to sharing reading material. This happened far more often than Hermione would have expected, but as they were both chomping at the bit to find a cure, they shared whatever books she was able to procure from the Restricted Section in an attempt to "stay on the same page" with their investigation, both figuratively and literally. Of course, they discovered that reading over each other's shoulders was murder on the neck and were forced to become more creative for the purpose of comfort.

Malfoy sat on an angle on the couch, Hermione perched on the edge just in front of him, stiff as a board. Their _intimacy_, if she could call it that, was born from a logical assessment of their needs; It was simply a means to an end. But when his long arm made its way down hers, and their left hands joined to hold the book, she leaned into his chest almost automatically, as natural as breathing.

The new arrangement was still uncomfortable, but only for the fact of how comfortable she was with it. It hadn't escaped her notice that this was her very definition of romance: snuggled up between a man and a book.

But it wasn't supposed to be _this _man.

Nor did it help that, once she put her hair up due to his grievance that her "mane" was blocking his view of the book, she could feel his breath tickling at the back of her neck.

The whole thing was positively quiver inducing.

Hermione flushed with embarrassment, remembering all at once that Malfoy could feel her emotions through the spell. True, he couldn't read her thoughts, but he wasn't a simpleton. How much might he be able to deduce?

As if on cue, Malfoy cleared his throat. It took a moment for Hermione to realize it was to indicate that he was finished with the current page. Lucky, because it stopped Hermione from going any further down the rabbit hole with that line of thinking. She reached to turn the page and accidentally jostled his hand, momentarily breaking their connection.

"Sorry!" She rushed in response to his yelp. "Here, how about we try this?" She rolled up her sleeve and then went to work on his, but froze when his forearm was only halfway exposed. She had come face to face with the remnants of his Dark Mark. Or should she say scar to scar? Because her branded skin was right under his.

Malfoy's body tensed behind her. Slowly she spun to see him. She was unsure and apprehensive of what his reaction would be. Would he taunt her and reiterate the slur on her flesh? Or would he apologize for their past? Although he hasn't said anything that would point to the latter, Hermione had started to feel an easiness in his silent presence that she could hardly imagine was only one-sided. In the end, he did neither. Instead, he sat for a moment, still as a statue. Not even a breath to tickle her neck. Then he cleared his throat again and stood, leaving the room without ever having looked her in the eye. Hermione's skin felt immediately colder.

...

The next night, Hermione had to attend the Head and Prefect meeting, giving her a fabulous excuse to avoid Malfoy for a night.

What a shock then, when he walked into the meeting on Professor McGonagall's tail. His eyes locked on Hermione. It almost looked like he intended to take the empty seat next to her and thought better of it. Instead, he lowered himself primly into the chair alongside the headmistress and stared challenging at nothing in particular.

"Good evening students. The school's Board of Governors has recently decided that we must do more to promote healing in the wake of the war," McGonagall announced. Her unusually soft tone gave the impression that, for once, she didn't whole-heartedly disagree with the notoriously stodgy school board. "This school, and most of the students in it, were on the front lines of battle, and we will be leading by example again. We are being tasked with throwing a ball for the end of term, focussed on the themes of unification and forgiveness. To start that off, your classmate Mr. Malfoy will be donating funding."

A solid minute passed before anyone in the room so much as blinked.

"So what you're saying is, go wild?" sniggered a sixth year Ravenclaw, earning a few other titters around the room. McGonagall's responding glare killed the laughter and silenced whatever retort had been on Malfoy's tongue.

As Co-Head Girl, Hermione felt the responsibility fall on her shoulders to get them started in the right direction.

"The donation is appreciated," she said diplomatically, "and we'll make sure it goes to good use so everyone can enjoy it." The prefects started muttering their agreements and Ginny soon called the meeting officially to order. Malfoy sat silently for the whole meeting, his reproachful expression never wavering.

When the meeting concluded, Hermione and Ginny walked the hall together, after all the Prefects had cleared out. Upon rounding a corner, the pair ran right into Harry. He blinked in surprise.

"Hi. Er, hullo. I'm just on some rounds..." he fumbled around his words.

Ginny looked past him. "Sorry to interrupt then, Professor." Her voice wasn't cold but obviously distant. She continued to walk down the hall, not waiting for Hermione to stay in step.

It was at that moment Hermione saw the last person to leave the meeting. Draco Malfoy. He had either been trying to avoid the crowd of Prefects in the hall, or her specifically, and by the uncertainty she read on his face, she guessed it was the latter. _Well then_, she thought. She was avoiding him first. And she would make sure he knew it.

"Fancy a little company?" She asked Harry, loud enough for Malfoy to hear.

The question must have come out sounding slightly too desperate because Harrry's brow crinkled. "Um... sure?"

She linked his arm and schooled her tone to be as normal as possible. "Where to?"

"Wait here a moment." Harry placed his hand over Hermione's to still her. Malfoy, working on an award-winning performance of pretending not to notice them, slid by. Harry's neck swiveled to follow as Malfoy passed.

"He's been going to the Room of Requirement again." Harry's voice was low and his eyes lingered on the corner where Malfoy had just disappeared.

Hermione bit her lip. It didn't sound like he suspected anything about her, but she definitely needed to tread carefully. "Have you been watching the Marauder's map?"

He gave a quick shake of his head for the negative. "I saw him one night. Sneaking in like he didn't want anyone to see him."

"Wanting privacy isn't always suspicious," she hedged. She was suddenly acutely thankful that she and Malfoy had practiced the good sense to arrive separately every time since their first meeting.

"That's not the only thing that feels like old times. Remember how Ron said Ambrosius Flume went missing?" When Hermione nodded, Harry continued. "He was found and is back at Honeydukes-"

"See? Nothing sinister." She tried to wave him off.

"-_but_," he emphasized to regain control of the conversation, "according to Ron, Flume can't account for where he was or what he did during the time he was missing. Six whole days."

"That could mean nothing. Why would anyone take him just to let him go? And what significance could the owner of a sweets shop possibly have?" She tried to sound more convincing than she felt, but her curiosity was piqued.

Harry responded with a lopsided shrug. "Dunno. Yet. But I'm keeping an eye on him." He pointed a finger the direction Malfoy had walked.

"Harry, I don't think Malfoy is the same person he used to be." She paused, trying to think of any argument to present that didn't betray how she had been spending her evenings in close physical contact with the man in question. "He's back at school and getting involved with the whole healing agenda. He's financing a ball for student unity in the Spring. That's got to mean something."

"Because he _has_ to, Hermione. You forget I'm a professor now. I saw his student file. He was mandated to finish out his schooling at Hogwarts, as part of his probationary sentence. And due to their contributions for the Death Eater cause, his family was forced to pay reparations, and that ball is part of it."

Hermione relented, but only a little. "Fine. So it's not voluntary, but I still think you're wrong. Even if we conclude that Flume's disappearance is part of some dark plot, nothing points to Malfoy's involvement. You might have proven historically good at sensing when something is off, but your grasp at the particulars has a fairly low success rate."

Harry pulled a face at her. "I was right about him once, you know. Anyway, that's what I have your big brain for. To sort out the particulars."


	8. Chapter 8

Draco's eyelids felt like lead- too heavy to open. His left arm was heavy, too. No, that wasn't right. His thoughts, still hazy between dreams and reality, were mistaking the feeling. He pondered for a moment and determined the feeling was that of being weighed down. Strange. But at least he wasn't in pain. It was the first morning in months that he wasn't tormented by his cursed pains.

Well, he wasn't entirely comfortable, though. His neck felt a crick, stuck at an odd slant, and that dratted left arm was beginning to get the pins-and-needles feeling spreading up from his fingertips. He tried to shake his hand but it was lodged under something soft and warm. Fighting against the weight of his eyelids, he opened his eyes slowly to inspect what his arm was pinned beneath. When he caught sight of the offending object, his spine straightened. He was suddenly very alert.

There was Hermione Granger, curled up and sleeping serenely, practically in his lap.

He suppressed the urge to immediately jump up and push her off. He would undoubtedly wake her if he did that, and then they'd have to face their awkwardness and disgust together. There must be some way to escape without _that._

_How did this happen?! _He lamented internally. Of course, if one is speaking strictly physically, it was obvious how it happened. They had fallen asleep reading a book with a promising section of domestic curses. They'd already been basically _cuddling, _late into the night, in front of a conjured flame in a jar. The low flickering light and the drawn-out rhythm of their synchronized breaths must have lulled them before they could part as usual.

But how did he get here, figuratively speaking? A place where he felt comfortable enough to fall asleep not only _with _Granger, but _under_ her? A place where the thought of spending an evening lying on a couch with her could be in the same sentence as the 'usual'? Suddenly an image pushed into his consciousness. The old adage about the toad and the boiling cauldron- put the toad into a boiling potion and he'll hop out; put him into a room temperature potion and slowly increase the heat and he'll stay until he is boiled.

Only, in this image, it was Draco in a cauldron. And the fluffy-haired potioneer was holding his hand while she boiled him.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

**A few weeks ago...**

They'd been at it for hours on a Sunday afternoon, reading and researching, without finding anything that even hinted at a cure. Draco sighed in exasperation. Granger shoved their book away forcefully.

"I really thought we were on to something there," she groaned. Then she let out a deep sigh, almost an echo of Draco. "I need a break."

Draco watched as Granger attacked the closest pile of soot with her bare hands. Even though she'd started to allow them to use magic a while earlier, she seemed to blow off steam by doing it the muggle way. Draco could feel the relief already.

_Her _relief, he corrected himself. All this time spent together was muddling up his feelings. More often now, he was finding himself confused about if his emotions were genuine to him. He hated the idea that Granger seemed to be rubbing off on him. What he hated even more was the thought that maybe the two of them had always been a bit alike.

Revulsion filled his gut. _There, _he thought with a smirk. That feeling was his, and his alone. But the pride that followed was a toss-up, based on the smile he could see at the corner of Granger's mouth. Suddenly he felt the unstoppable urge to become her polar opposite. He drew his wand. She glanced at him as he began to vanish some grime.

"I found something in this pile," she announced. Draco could feel her excitement. He did his best to act bored.

"It's... oh." Her mood took a turn, and then she was disinterested alongside him. He felt an emotion coming from her that could only be described as a mental eye roll. "It's a pack of tarot. Right in the bin."

Well, opposite he must be.

"I think I'll keep them, actually." He reached out and took them out of her hand, simultaneously delighting in and loathing the soothing contact with her fingers. He fanned the cards out in his hand and then made an elaborate show of shuffling them.

Her laugh in return was all annoyance. "What for?"

"To tell the future," Draco gave her a wink. "Obviously."

"Right." She conjured a sponge and began to scrub the floor vigorously.

"Here, I'll start with yours." He shuffled and held the pile out to her. "Cut the deck?"

"No _thanks," _she said through her teeth. Draco could feel the sarcasm flowing out of her. What is the opposite of sarcasm? Sincerity? That would be difficult for him, he mused, but he had to try.

"Alright, so you've chosen to keep the cards as is," he said, working hard to keep his tone even and light. "You know, sometimes not making a choice is a choice in itself." Granger squinted at him sideways and her annoyance was gone, suddenly replaced with confusion, curiosity, contemplation. For Salazar's sake, could the witch _never _just have one emotion at a time?

Draco flipped a few cards in a row. "Cups... swords... hmmmmm" he read off the suits and counted the numbers, drawing out the hum of the m to hold her attention at peak. He could feel her impatience at war with her stubbornness; she was determined not to ask him. He smirked and waited.

"Share with the class, then," she finally demanded in her same old swotty tone. His smirk grew bigger. Tiny victories.

"Heartbreak... danger..." he whispered with intensity.

"Ha!" she barked a mirthless laugh, dispelling his ominous tone in an instant. "Why I even thought..." but she trailed off shaking her head.

"Don't believe me? Think I don't know how to read the cards, do you?" He had only been playing, really, but her dismissal was like a slap to the face.

"I have no concerns for your literacy, Malfoy. And whether or not I believe you is moot. I don't believe the cards." She spit her last word like it was profanity. She returned to polishing the floor in front of her.

He pointed at a card, a cold anger growing in his gut. "This means that you are going to run for your life!"

She threw her hands up. "And that's exactly why I don't believe it! Always doom and gloom! The whole branch of Divination is a pseudo-magic designed to make sensationalized, fear-inducing, attention-grabbing premonitions that are so vague that you can't _technically _say they are wrong."

It took the length of her rant, but Draco began to put the pieces together. "I see," he said slowly, "You can't stand when something is up for interpretation. You need black and white so that you can be right and everyone else can be wrong."

"I'll give you some black and white." She leveled him with a steely glare. "I don't run _from _danger. Now, the only future I care to hear about is ours. Specifically, how we're going to break this bloody curse so that I can go back to my own life. Can you tell me that, oh great seer?"

He cocked an eyebrow, not backing down from her stare. "Fine. Here's our future." He gripped the deck and laid the top card out. They looked down simultaneously. It was a picture of a man and a woman, nude, grasping each other tenderly.

_The Lovers._

For a moment, he could hear nothing, as if even his own heart stopped beating. He couldn't look back up. "It doesn't mean..."

"I told you it was rubbish." Granger quipped, but it sounded shaky. All of her snotty bravado had been swept away.

"Right. Only good for a laugh," he replied, though neither of them felt like laughing. He piled up the cards and dropped them in the bin.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

**A few days ago...**

After the night with the tarot, they spent a lot more time cleaning the room and a lot less time touching. _Silently_ cleaning. No more funny business. Only enough touching to keep Draco from passing out. It was the best they could do to avoid each other under the circumstances. And they were doing a decent job of it, he thought. At least, that was until he found something in the ash that required their combined attention.

On this particular night, Draco found a trunk that had been pinned closed from the weight of the other debris. Feeling like he had just uncovered treasure, he lifted the lid.

"What the..?!"

He leaned back. Something round and black leapt from the trunk and whizzed past his head, just grazing his ear. He turned in time to see the ball collide with a tower of soot which burst into a thick dark cloud. It obscured his view of the ball's trajectory, but he knew the general direction it was headed.

"Bludger!" he yelled to alert Granger. He coughed away the dust and looked around for anything that might help. He settled on the trunk. With a little maneuvering, they could trap in again. Draco heaved the trunk free.

"Duck!" Granger screamed. She had materialized through the cloud just behind the bludger. Draco did as he was told and flattened himself to the ground. The bludger missed him entirely but soon curved back around, gaining momentum. Granger ran toward it and shouted a spell. Nothing.

"In the trunk!" He held up the trunk, open, as a target. She glanced around in a panic and grabbed the closest thing. The bludger made it within reach and she swung the metal dustpan in his direction. He jumped and felt an impact, square in the chest, as hard as if he'd just been hit by the Hogwarts Express. Instinct kicked in and he collapsed on top of the lid of the trunk. Granger bounded over, out of breath, wand at the ready once again.

"Let me see," she instructed. Without waiting, she pulled him off the trunk and began to open his shirt. She sucked in a large gasp of air and he watched as she bit her lip. "Does it hurt a lot?"

Draco looked down. His skin was already a hideous mix of purple and red. One rib did not appear to be at it's usual angle. It _should_ hurt. Logically, he could tell that, but truth be told, he couldn't feel much difference from his cursed pains. He didn't say that, though. For some reason, when he looked back up at her, concern evident in her wide eyes, and all he could say was-

"Terribly."

Granger scrunched her face in thought. "You should see Pomfrey," she said, but she didn't make a move to leave. Instead, she held her palm out flat towards him and gently brought it to his chest. He sighed into her touch. All the pain, even the bruise, melted away. "Better?"

"Better," he confirmed. And this time it was the whole truth. Draco sat with his eyes closed enjoying the respite. Then he heard a chuckle.

"I told you so."

He opened one eye. "Pardon?"

"I told you. That I don't run from danger."

He looked at her and laughed, too, despite himself. "Well, I told _you _there'd be something to run from."

She coughed and turned her gaze to the floor. He quickly realized what he'd said: asserting that the tarot had been correct would mean other things would have to be true, too. And the lovers depicted on the card had been in an embrace not too far off from the way they were entangled. Draco scrambled to say anything to change the subject.

"Seems you missed your calling as a quidditch beater."

Granger blushed. "And you wasted all that time trying to beat Harry as a seeker when you should have been a keeper."

Draco tilted his head and frowned. "I'm not sure that was actually a compliment."

More laughter. "Just nearly." She hooked her arm around his elbow and pulled up. "Come on, sport. I'm taking you to the infirmary."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

**Last night...**

The night before Draco's rude awakening was the night of their biggest find yet.

"What do you see?"

Draco turned to Granger with a quizzical expression. "What do you mean? It's a mirror, I see our reflection." True, the glass was tarnished and cloudy, and there was one large crack running from the bottom left corner diagonally up to the center, but he could still make out their two figures.

Granger leaned in closer to the glass. Her confusion only added to his.

"What am I supposed to see?" His eyes searched the areas with the deepest soot, in case he could find a clue in the dull reflection.

"It's the Mirror of Erised, I'm sure of it." She pointed to the inscription around the frame. Not all of it was still visible, and none of it made any sense to Draco. "It's supposed to show you your heart's desire."

He squinted harder. "Do you see anything?"

She shook her head. "Just us. Maybe the crack broke the charm?"

Draco's eyes traced the length of the crack, considering, then stopped suddenly at the reflection of his arm. He touched his physical arm, fully covered by the sleeve of his shirt, having shucked his robes before they started cleaning. Yet, even through the heavy grime, he could see the exposed skin on his forearm in the glass, pale and unblemished, as if the Dark Mark had never been there.

"Granger, I think..." he began but stopped himself. His reflection's hand had caught his attention; it was holding Granger's. It must be his desire to keep the pain at bay, he thought while looking back down to his real hand, alone and throbbing. But if this mirror was supposed to show his heart's desire, surely the curse would be broken and he'd have no need to touch her? Maybe the crack did modify the mirror's charm, but wasn't enough to entirely ruin it?

"What? Do you see something?" She took a half step in front of him and stood on her toes in an attempt to see from his position.

"No." His mind reeled, trying as fast as he could to come up with a convincing lie. "I was going to suggest we get back to it, then," he indicated the couch where their reading material was waiting. "Since this mirror is obviously broken."

He could feel her disappointment fill him. And guilt. He was sure this time the guilt was all his own, but he couldn't tell if it was from telling the lie or from the information that the lie was hiding.

"Right. Okay," she responded dejectedly. They settled in for the night.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

It was the pain that brought him back to the present. Granger had woken and moved from her position, breaking their skin contact.

And he had lost his chance to disappear without her notice.


	9. Chapter 9

Malfoy began to stir in his hospital bed. Hermione flipped the page of her book noisily and watched the blond out of the corner of her eye. His eyes remained closed so she tried again with a loud clear of her throat.

"Hmm? Where...?" Malfoy roused lightly and blinked at his surroundings, answering his own question. "Hospital wing? Why am I here?"

"Do you really not remember?" Hermione asked with exasperation and turned to give him her full attention. "You threw another tantrum, that's all." She could see the realization wash over his features. There was no doubt he was reliving the morning they'd woken up together and his subsequent hasty retreat. He looked down and saw the backs of their hands barely touching then looked away quickly.

"How long have I been here?"

"Almost two days. This is the first time Pomfrey allowed you a visitor, so it's been a whole four days since we..." She trailed off and gave a curt nod in the direction of their hands. He jerked away and rubbed at his skin where they had just been touching.

Hermione put on her sternest voice. "Malfoy, do you understand how serious this is? You could have __died__." She extended her hand out farther but he ignored her. She sighed. This was getting her nowhere, she could see, time for a different tactic. After a beat, she spoke more gently. "I can't help you if you won't let me."

He regarded her hand with hardened eyes. "Maybe that's the better option, instead of receiving pity from __you__."

She sucked in a deep breath. Why did his rebuke still pack such a punch? "Oh you're a martyr now, are you?

Malfoy's only response was to turn away. __What a child, __Hermione thought.

"Fine. Commit suicide by muggleborn for all I care!" She slammed her book and it closed with a loud slap. She pushed back her chair to stand. "I've done all I can. My conscience is clear."

"You still do," Malfoy grumbled before she could get up.

"What?" Hermione asked. She had heard him, but didn't follow.

"Care," he said in clarification. "You still care what happens to me."

She scoffed.

"Don't bother denying it, you know I can feel it." Malfoy placed his hand over his heart. "The sympathy... the __compassion__..." His tone was mocking and sarcastic.

"Must be new for you," she countered, earning one of his signature sneers.

"It's __exhausting __and I don't want it."

"Well I'm sorry but I can't exactly help how I feel."

Malfoy's face immediately went slack at her words and he was silent for a minute. In that moment, he looked so vulnerable, she nearly forgot her anger. "Is this all because of what happened the other night?"

"I... what?" Malfoy stammered. His façade briefly flushed pink. "Nothing happened! And I resent your implications."

"I wasn't implying..." Hermione shook her head; there was no use arguing that. "Look, it doesn't mean anything, alright? It's just a spell."

Malfoy tapped his fingers against his bedsheet. He spoke so quietly that she almost didn't hear him.

"I shouldn't stoop to you, no matter the consequences. You're beneath me."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. __Alright, time to play dirty. Let's see how he feels about this implication.__ "Actually, Malfoy, I believe I was on __top __of you." That had the desired effect. Malfoy looked like the wind had been knocked out of him. He shouted her name and hastily looked around the room.

"Relax," she said as she stood to leave. "It's Christmas Eve. Everyone's gone home so there's no one around to overhear." With that, she left before Malfoy could get in another word and collapsed against the wall just outside the door. She squeezed her eyes shut and allowed three deeps breaths to calm herself. When she opened her eyes, he was in front of her again, standing barefoot in a pair of school-issued pyjamas.

"You stayed for Christmas," he said plainly.

It wasn't technically a question but she answered it anyway with a nod. He tilted his head and for just a moment she could read his confusion and trepidation. He needed something from her, and she guessed at what it was.

"I didn't stay for you," she said. His nose wrinkled slightly. "I mean, not for the spell," she corrected.

Malfoy didn't seem convinced yet. "You didn't care to be with Weasel?"

"Big family," Hermione shrugged, trying her best to sound casual. "Too loud."

He was still watching her carefully. "Why not your own home, then?"

A tear pricked in the corner of Hermione's eye and she swallowed hard to clear the growing lump in her throat. "__No__ family," she said, picturing her parents still blissfully clueless living out a parallel life in Australia. "Too quiet." Malfoy's stare didn't relent, but Hermione refused to elaborate. She wouldn't break down in front of him, that was a promise she made to herself a long time ago. Unfortunately, he still wasn't moving.

"The train is already gone, but I'm sure if you talked to McGonagall she could arrange something for you..." She offered as a way to change the subject.

"No, I'm staying," he interrupted, terse and succinct. He didn't feel the need to explain further, either. His gaze turned to his hands. Hermione imagined, just briefly, that he was going to reach out and touch her one more time. She almost did it for him. Even after all the insults, she just couldn't stop herself from playing the protector. He sensed her change in mood and abruptly turned to retreat back to the hospital wing.

…

On Christmas morning, Hermione awoke in the quiet loneliness of her Hogwarts four-poster. Would it really have been so different if she had gone home to the loneliness of the Granger house? She considered, but quickly shook the thought away. She had excused herself from the Weasley Christmas under the pretense of studying over the holidays- undisturbed access to the Hogwarts library was her declared Christmas wish- so she'd had to stay. Besides, Harry hadn't gone to the Burrow out of awkwardness with Ginny, so she'd at least get to see him at some point.

A small wrapped package on her nightstand caught her attention. It was a gift that she had meant to give Malfoy the previous night. Of course, she hadn't found the right opening in their heated exchange to present it to him. She checked the time. It was only half six. Possibly still early enough that she could deliver it while he was still sleeping and avoid the need to speak. She slipped into a muggle robe and slippers, stowing the gift in her pocket, and subconsciously combed her fingers through her curls.

When she arrived at the hospital wing, Malfoy was indeed asleep. His brow was creased into a troubled expression, reminding Hermione of all the nights she had to watch Harry suffer through nightmares. She bit her lip, physically restraining herself from reaching out to Malfoy. That would surely wake him. She dropped the gift on his side table, careful to angle the tag to face him, and left silently.

Instead of going to the library, she found herself at the Room of Requirement. Somehow, the burnt-out, tomb-like expanse had replaced the library or even her own common room as her comfort zone. She sighed as she looked around at the countless piles of ash still remaining. She needed a little Christmas spirit. Under her expert casting, a broken spindle chair transfigured into a lovely miniature Christmas tree, and a frayed length of rope became a string of twinkling fairy lights. She contemplated turning a mouldy hatbox into a hearth, but was disrupted when the door swung open.

Malfoy stood at the entrance, redressed in his own robe, holding her gift up with his palm, still fully wrapped. "What's this?" The tag was still facing out, reading simply ****To**** ****Malfoy****.

Hermione feigned innocence. "I don't know. Why don't you open it."

Malfoy didn't budge. "I know it's from you." Normally she would expect accusation in his voice, but this he said almost delicately. She supposed he had a point. The list of people likely to send him a gift these days was short, and they would probably use his given name instead of his surname on the tag.

She sighed. "Can we have a truce for Christmas? It's just a present. And it benefits me just as much as you, so let's not make a big deal of it." Hermione watched him decide, and after a long silence, he joined her on their couch. He ripped up an edge of the wrapping paper and pulled out the jar inside.

"Pink... cream?" He asked, holding it up to the light of the tree.

"Yes, you put it on your skin-"

"I know how to use lotion," he cut her off haughtily. "Are my hands that unpleasant to hold?"

Hermione turned to him with eyes wide. "For your information, it's not a moisturizing cream. It's a potion, actually. I made it."

"Oh." He considered the jar silently some more. "It doesn't look familiar. Pink?"

"Well, the base is white," she began to explain, holding her left hand out to show him a gash across her palm that was already a few days into the healing process. "It needed part of me to make the magic work."

Malfoy's jaw fell open. "Your blood?"

"Don't let that stop you from using it."

He blinked rapidly, his thoughts trying to catch up with the meaning. "Is this... did you find a cure?"

She winced. He sounded so hopeful, but the truth wasn't so final. "Relief," she clarified. "It's only temporary. Really temporary, actually. From what I read, your body will build up an immunity to it pretty much immediately, so it might only work once. But while it does work, it acts as a stand-in for my touch. You can use it if there's an emergency and I can't get to you in time. Or, you know, if we just need a break."

Malfoy's eyes flitted back and forth between her and the jar. "Granger?"

"Hmm?"

He grabbed her hand and inspected her cut, rubbing the raised skin under his thumb. It was a move that, if Hermione didn't know better, she could almost classify as reverent. Without warning, her hand lost the warmth of his touch, but surprisingly, he didn't leave the room. Instead, he reached into his pocket and extracted a package of sweets. He held it out, vaguely in her direction. She plucked one off the top and popped it into her mouth.

"Happy Christmas, Granger."


	10. Chapter 10

Granger didn't stay very long after Draco opened her present. She made an excuse about plans with Potter, gave Draco an awkward handshake for one last pain-relieving touch, and left him alone.

Alone on Christmas day. To anyone else that would sound depressing, but Draco thought it sounded like a blessing. There would be no angry stares from his classmates to judge his past. And no Granger to cloud his mind with questions about his future. A future that, unless they miraculously found the cure that had been eluding them for almost four months, would always include her.

That was why he was so cruel to her, he acknowledged: the fear of togetherness. He had tried to distance himself physically, but that had only landed him unconscious in the hospital wing. His only logical next step was to distance himself emotionally. If he could have just made her hate him again, maybe it would have made it all easier. Less confusing.

But his harshness didn't make her hate him. She showed signs of her same old temper, then stubbornly refused to stop helping him. That stubbornness could have been endearing if it wasn't so bloody infuriating. She was too good. Too righteous. She'd never stop trying to do good even if it hurts her, and he should have known that from the start.

Draco let out a long breath and lifted the jar of pink cream level with his eyes to inspect it. That pink... that _blood_... was the reason he pitted himself against her for so long. And here she was simply giving it to him. So why couldn't he accept it? Before he could squash it, the nagging voice in his head answered: _Because you don't deserve it._

Well if his damn pureblood pride would let him fix things, he could deserve it, he thought. Was there a way to apologize without actually having to say sorry? Was there a way to tell her she was right without having to admit to being wrong? He sat thinking for a long time, twirling the jar slowly, watching the fairy lights from the tree reflect sparkles in the glass. Suddenly he became aware of what was staring him right in the face- a gift. If he gave her a gift... the right gift, a _perfect _gift, she would know everything he couldn't bring himself to say.

Unfortunately, as it was already Christmas day, the shops would be closed. He'd have to find some hidden treasure in the debris of this room. Draco looked around him. Even though he and Granger had been working for months to clear the mess, it still seemed like the piles stretched out infinitely in all directions. He stood and flexed his grip on his wand.

"Better get started," he said to no one and began his search.

...

Draco awoke to the smell of pine. A quick check of the clock told him it was still technically Christmas, but only just. He had fallen asleep on the couch in the Room of Requirement yet again. One of these days they should transfigure a bed, he thought, but being that it was almost midnight and he was still woozy from disturbed sleep, today was definitely not that day. He would have to pull it together and make it back to his dormitory for now. He was surprised Granger didn't make it back, but he supposed he could leave her present for her to find the same as she did for him. He left it under the tree and went to leave.

At the door, instinct stopped him from opening it more than a crack. There were voices in the hall. He held his breath to listen.

"Ron, he's got no reason to lie to me."

It was Granger. Draco didn't have to use the spell's powers to read the emotion carried in that sentence. Exasperation. They must have been arguing the same point for a while now.

"You're wrong." Weasley's disembodied voice replied. "That ferret's got every reason to lie, Hermione. He needs you to keep being nice to him, for the sake of that damn curse."

They were talking about him. And Weasley knew about the spell. Granger had to have told him, he thought, there was no way the Weasel King figured that out by himself. Draco decided to press his luck and open the door a smidge more so he could see them. They were still a ways down the hall, too wrapped up in conversation to notice him. Granger had her arms crossed and was looking away. Weasley turned and it wasn't until then that Draco realized Potter was with them, too.

"Harry, is he in here?" He pointed at the door, but he didn't look in Draco's direction. Weasley's eyes were on a weathered piece of parchment that Potter had folded under his arm.

"The Room is unplottable," Potter answered, "You know I can't tell."

Weasley let out a groan. "But we know he's on the grounds. He didn't go home for the holiday. If he isn't showing up anywhere else in the castle, he's here." He spun toward the opening in the door and Draco leapt back so he couldn't be spotted. He'd have to sate his curiosity with only listening.

"What exactly is it you plan to do when you find him?" Granger asked, anger still very much evident in her tone.

Draco didn't hear a response, but instead heavy footsteps approaching the door.

"You can't hurt him!" Granger's voice sounded louder. She must have followed Weasley closer to the door.

"I certainly can! He's touching my girlfriend!"

Draco could imagine how red her face must have turned as she spoke next. "You make it sound inappropriate..."

"Make it sound better, then. Go ahead, try." There was more tense silence as, presumably, Granger attempted to come up with a description that would appease her boyfriend but found none. "Right," Weasley said with renewed determination. "I'm going in after him."

"Ron, I mean it, you can't hurt him." She sounded desperate.

"Why not?"

_Yes, why not?_ Draco thought. He held his breath to make sure he could hear every word.

"Because... because anything that hurts him also hurts me!"

Huh. Granger lied for him. Before he could let his mind chase that thread, she continued.

"Listen, I know you're not okay with it, but that's how it is right now. I'm looking for a counterspell, it's just a matter of time. In the meantime, you have to trust me. About all of it. Now I'm going to get back to research. I'm safe here. We'll figure this out, too."

Draco wasn't prepared for her to end the conversation so abruptly. Granger was in front of him and the door closed behind her before he could move.

"Oh, hi. Um..." She bit her lip, probably trying to decide whether or not she wanted to acknowledge his eavesdropping. She sighed. "How much did you hear?"

"You told them about the spell."

Her face reflected the guilt he started to feel flowing out of her. "It sort of slipped out."

"But you lied," he said steadily. "That bit about my pain getting transferred to you."

"And you'd like to know why?" She grimaced. "Maybe we should sit." The emotions he felt from her seemed stronger than simply a row with a boyfriend. The hairs on the back of Draco's neck stood up.

"Granger, what's going on?"

She didn't speak until she was back on their couch. "There was a breakout at Azkaban last night."

Draco froze. The Dark Lord was dead, it was all supposed to be over. Many questions immediately assaulted his brain, but the only thing he said was, "Who?"

"The Carrows. Macnair. Those are the only ones I know for sure at the moment."

He squeezed his eyes shut as if that could stop it from being true.

"Kingsley thinks they had help. From someone on the outside."

Draco's eyes snapped open as he realized how this was related to Granger's lie. "So Weasley and Potter, they think I'm involved?"

She gave a curt nod and Draco read the new emotion that he felt coming from her.

"But you don't."

"No, I don't." For the first time since she came back in the room, she met his gaze, searching him for confirmation. "We thought- Harry and I, I mean- that Ron was joining us for Christmas, but he came with that news. They threw suspicion on you immediately, it's habit by now I guess. So you know, I told them right where they could stuff that theory, but they didn't believe me. That's when I let it slip about the spell. I thought they'd see reason if they knew that all your free time lately has been under my eye, but that backfired. So yes, I lied so Ron wouldn't try to take it into his own hands."

Draco mulled over her words. One phrase stuck out that he couldn't move past. "_Under your eye?_ Granger, did you only agree to help me with the effects of this spell in order to _babysit_ me?"

"No! I just meant that since I am around, I see you." Her voice became softer and Draco started to feel her uneasiness in his gut. "And I don't think_ that _is what you want."

She was being vague, but Draco caught her meaning. She didn't think he wanted the breakout, more war. She saw the truth in him even while he spewed vile words at her still.

A minute went by without him knowing what to say. He cleared his throat and picked up the gift from under the tree and thrust it into her hands, allowing his grip to linger long enough to feel her fingers close around it. She unwrapped the package, extracted a ring, and held it up in the light.

"It's a proper coming of age gift," he started to explain rapidly. "Tradition is that wizards get a timepiece and witches get jewelry. It's usually a bracelet, but I worked with what I could find here."

She was still staring at him and it was starting to make him uncomfortable. "I know it's not your birthday, and I missed seventeen by a while anyway, but I thought..." he trailed off, trying to think of a way to say exactly what he meant- that she belonged to the wizarding community, that this tradition should apply to her. Granger's eyes became glassy and he thought this must be another thing she knew without him having to tell her.

"That's very sweet, Malfoy." She slipped the ring onto the middle finger of her right hand. As Draco watched, the blue stone in the center began to change color into an emerald green. Granger giggled.

"I promise I didn't charm it to change to Slytherin colors," he said, confused.

"No, it wasn't you," she laughed. "Do you know what this is?"

That sounded like a trick question, so Draco waited.

"It's called a mood ring. The stone changes color and that's supposed to tell you how I'm feeling."

"How redundant for me, then," he cracked a smile, finally understanding the joke since he already magically knew her feelings. "What's green?"

"Oh, I don't know," she waved off the question. "It's not real magic, just a muggle toy, really." She smiled at him. "Anyway, it's lovely. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Granger settled deeper into their couch and opened a book to start her nightly research. Draco, still abuzz with a thousand thoughts, stared blankly at the jar of pink cream which was again in front of him. The last thought on his mind as Christmas day turned into Boxing day was that this cream made it so that he didn't have to touch her for a while, but he couldn't convince himself to want that.


	11. Chapter 11

The rest of Christmas break was tense, but not for the reason Hermione would have thought. Things had been smoothed over with Malfoy since they exchanged gifts; they had returned briefly to the status quo of silent acceptance. She had snuggled back into their couch, eyes on a book, and held her hand out toward him palm up. It took him a minute, but slowly he interlaced his fingers with hers.

No, the current tension came from their new third wheel. Since she had told Harry and Ron about the spell, it was never just her and Malfoy anymore.

The first time Harry joined them, she and Malfoy had been on their couch as usual, hands held between them. When the door opened, they sprang apart like guilty teenagers. Well, teenagers they were, but they had nothing to feel guilty about. She knew this, logically, and she glared at Harry, hating his implication that she should need a chaperone. But the logic did nothing to stop to blush on her cheeks and she broke their eye contact quickly, letting her hair fall across her face as a shield. It was an unnatural feeling, wishing her best friend away, especially since she would have warmly welcomed his company only a few months ago. But now it was a nagging discomfort to be in his presence. He was an intrusion, always looking at them out of the corner of his eye like he was expecting something. She tried to keep her mind away from thoughts of what exactly he could be expecting.

Malfoy couldn't seem to make up his mind about how to act around their new shadow. One day he would hold her hand unabashedly, almost daring Harry to say something. It was as if he was purposefully rubbing the other boy's nose in it. Then the next day, Malfoy would stay far from her, subsisting only on a quick brushing of knuckles as he came and went, unwilling to tolerate the antagonizing looks from his rival.

New Year's Eve was particularly miserable. The clock on the wall chimed midnight, drawing three pairs of eyes. Harry stared unseeing, lost in thoughts of a certain redhead, Hermione presumed. She turned her thoughts to her own Weasley, more guilt plaguing her for the fact that she didn't think of him automatically. And she should want him there, right? She wanted to want him there at least. Did that count?

Hermione snuck a peek at Malfoy. He was watching the clock, deep in thought as well. Did he have a girl with whom he would have preferred to spend this night? Someone to kiss at the stroke of midnight? It was no use trying to guess, he was extraordinarily talented at masking his emotions when he wanted. She could only tell how he truly felt when she suspected that he wanted her to know. For the first time, she wished the spell _did_ go both ways.

The day the train brought the rest of the students back from break, Hermione was relieved. Harry would be too busy with professor duties to continue babysitting her and Malfoy. She slept in a little that morning. It hadn't been too long since she last saw Malfoy, and surely he could make it a bit longer without her. She took a leisurely shower, letting the warm water seep through her skin, relaxing right to her bones. She spent extra time taming her hair into a high bun, just in case Malfoy needed to read over her shoulder. She twirled the mood ring around the base of her finger, smiling absently at the violet-coloured stone. Finally, she gathered a few books into her bag and set off toward the Room of Requirement.

She had just made it to the seventh floor when she heard a muffled explosion from somewhere below and paused mid-step. Her ears strained to hear if another explosion followed, but the sound of her own rushing blood blocked anything else out. There was a chance she was overreacting, but she had been through too much in her life to discount the unsettling feeling that erupted in her stomach. Her mind flooded with images of escaped death eaters. She gripped her wand tight and stalked down the stairs in the vague direction of the noise, as quickly as she could while still remaining quiet.

At the fifth floor, she hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary so far. How far down had it been? She had heard it more than two floors above, so it had to have been something big. Hermione tried to steady her breathing to think clearly. She needed to find Harry. Instinctively she reached for her DA coin, which she still always kept in the front pocket of her trousers, ready to send a message but there was already one waiting for her.

_One-eyed witch statue._

The secret passage that lead into the castle from Honeydukes! She remembered back to September when Ron mentioned Ambrosius Flume had gone missing, and the pieces clicked into place. The school was about to be attacked again. But there were still so many unknowns. How many Death Eaters would she find, and who specifically? Mentally she kicked herself for not probing further into the breakout when Harry had stoutly refused to discuss it in Malfoy's presence.

Hermione reached the third floor and peered around the corner to where the statue stood. Or, she should say, used to stand, because in it's place was rubble surrounding a gaping hole. There was no sign of Harry, a sentiment which was echoed by one of the several robed figures standing among the rubble.

"I searched Potter's classroom and offices. Empty," the familiar-sounding voice raged. It was Rookwood. Hermione remembered him at the final battle, but he hadn't been among the captured, so he must have been their man on the outside. Rookwood paced in front of the hole and barked an order, which could only mean that there were still more coming.

Hermione ran a calculation in her mind, weighing her chances of success of taking them on by herself. With the element of surprise on her side could she overcome their advantage of numbers? She'd been at this kind of disadvantage before, but then she'd had the ability to disapparate if things went wrong, which wasn't a possibility on school grounds. The odds didn't seem great. Silently she backed away. This stopped her from breaking into an all-out run, but at least she could keep her eye on them. As she passed a window, movement drew her eyes away from the serpentine hall. Her classmates were trekking back to the castle from the train station. They would soon be in the Great Hall, closer to danger. She had to warn them.

Daring to turn her back, she finally took off at a sprint. She barreled into the Great Hall just as the majority of the student body came in from outside, but her breath was too ragged to get any words out.

"Hermione!" Ginny called out from the crowd. "What's this message about the statue?" The girl held up her own DA coin. As she took in Hermione's clenched wand and panicked face, her own features morphed from confusion to concern.

"Death Eaters in the castle," Hermione choked out.

Ginny only had time to get her wand at the ready before the head table was blown over their heads, shattering with a bang against the far wall. A collective shriek went through the room before chilling to a charged silence.

"I believe we have their attention, brother." Alecto Carrow stepped out toward the center of the room followed by Amycus. The students drew back, giving the former professors a wide berth. Rookwood stayed lurking at the edge of the room, circling behind the students, surveying them. Hermione counted only five Death eaters in the Great Hall. Macnair was missing, as well as some others she hadn't yet identified. One after another, two more explosions from different sides of the castle sent tremors through the floor, answering her unasked question. There were as of yet no current professors in the hall, the intruders must have planned to incapacitate them first.

"Yes," Amycus answered, dark excitement glinting in his eye, "and we won't make the Dark Lord's mistake, will we? Can't just wait around for Harry Potter to join us. We'll start the killing with... that one." He pointed with his wand, scanning the crowd, stopping on Ginny.

"Or that one," his sister said and pointed her wand at Hermione.

Ginny stepped forward with fierce determination, but Harry's voice rang out from the doorway.

"NO!"

Harry and Malfoy entered the room together and flanked the death eaters. They stood side by side with the wands out, trained on the siblings.

In all the commotion, Hermione had forgotten about Malfoy. The amount of time he could go without her seemed to be getting shorter lately, and now she greatly regretted taking her time in the morning. He must be in tremendous pain now, and how long might it be before he just passed out and became a sitting duck in this attack? But there was no time to check on him yet. With the death eater's backs turned, Hermione and Ginny had to take the first strike. In no time, the room was alight with spells flying back and forth. The death eaters that had been ransacking the castle streamed in to join the fray. Hermione jumped to her left, just barely avoiding a jet of green. The Gryffindor table took the hit. It burst in splinters and sprayed in all directions. She threw a stun back, forcing her robed attacker to dodge, which gave her just enough of an opening to cast again- a perfectly aimed _petrificus_ _totalus_.

When she was no longer engaged, she scanned the room, looking for the white-blond hair of her new target. She found Harry first, who looked to be in trouble. He had been cornered and was being attacked two-on-one. Hermione started in his direction, but in a blink, Ginny was already there. The redhead came up behind the closest death eater and kicked in the back of his knee, dropping him to the ground, and followed it up with a stinging jinx to the other attacker.

Satisfied with Harry's current predicament, Hermione went back to searching for Malfoy. She found him further off to the side, making decent work of Yaxley and another that she couldn't identify. Malfoy disarmed Yaxley; the other used the distraction to wind up for a spell of his own. Hermione beat him to the punch. The death eater, who she finally identified as Jugson, sailed backward and cracked his head against the stone wall, crumpling to the ground unconscious.

Free of the onslaught for another moment, she rushed to Malfoy's side and grabbed his free hand. "Are you alright?"

"Thanks, Hermione, I'm fine." He pulled his hand away and gave her an easy smile. Hermione took a half step back but looked closer into his eyes. His hand reached up to his face and did an awkward sort of motion like he was trying to adjust a pair of glasses that did not exist.

"Who..." Hermione leaned in, squinting. "Harry?" She turned and found Harry's body halfway across the room, doubled over in pain, with Ginny standing guard against the assault.

"Down!" he shouted and pushed her to the floor. A flash of light flew above their heads.

"_Impedimenta_!" She cried, aiming away from the man next to her. Then, enraged, she poked the tip of her wand into his ribs.

"Harry. James. Potter. You made Malfoy wear _your_ face to a death eater party?".

"It was his idea," he said. His voice was confusing. The tone sounded like Malfoy, but the cadence was all Harry. "Like he's got something to prove."

"And you let him?"

He grimaced. The expression was odd on Malfoy's features. "I knew you made it up. The bit about his pain hurting you."

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. She caught sight of Malfoy again, his hand extended, searching for her. "Cover me," she demanded.

Harry didn't argue. As one, they emerged from their hiding place. Harry aimed spell after spell at their attackers, and Hermione made a beeline for Malfoy. She reached him just in time to see his eyes, starting to change from green to grey, flood with relief. Then they fell shut, unconscious.


	12. Chapter 12

The last thing Draco remembered was Granger's face, exuding worry, rushing toward him amid a haze of spells. But now everything was dark. He thrashed around to get a feel for his surroundings. His fingers grasped desperately, trying to find his wand.

"Malfoy." Granger's soothing voice rose out of the dark and he felt a gentle pressure at his wrist. "Draco, wake up. Can you hear me? Everything's alright, you're safe. We're safe."

Draco lifted his lids after a struggle, taking in the view. The now all-too-familiar hospital wing and Granger's still worried face, just as he remembered. Potter, back in his own face, was next to her. Surprisingly, he looked a bit concerned as well.

"Are you very hurt?" Granger asked.

Draco did a quick mental check around his body. His head was booming, his knees felt bruised, and there was a bandage wrapped around his chest, sticky with clotted blood. He considered for a moment, unable to decide if he wanted to play it up for Granger's sympathy or man up in front of Potter. The truth was somewhere in the middle so he gave a noncommittal grunt and changed the subject.

"What happened?"

"I should ask you," Granger said, her tone taking a grave turn. "Polyjuice? __What__ were you thinking?"

Draco attempted a shrug but the pain stopped him halfway. "One of us had to face the death eaters," he said back through gritted teeth. "Does it make that much of a difference that it was me?"

"Yes!" Granger exclaimed. She blinked, seemingly shocked by her own outburst, and looked sheepishly in Potter's direction. "I just mean, because of your condition. The spell has you at a disadvantage. And I..." She faltered. She was saved from having to finish that sentence. The door to the hospital wing slammed open and then they were joined by Weasley.

"Hermione! Harry!" His words slowed when he saw Draco in the bed and Granger and Potter sitting by his side. "I heard you two were here and I thought..." Weasley's eyes landed on Granger's right hand which was resting on Draco's wrist. Her Christmas ring was a deep scarlet, matching the scrapes on her skin. Weasley's cheeks flared to follow suit.

"Ron, how did you get here?" Granger asked, shifting uncomfortably.

Weasley held up something small and shiny like a coin. Draco waited for further explanation but Weasley didn't seem bothered to provide more. A glance at Granger and Potter told him that they understood something he didn't.

Potter smiled wide. "You followed them in?"

Weasley nodded. "They had a good head start, though. By the time I got here, all the professors were barricaded in their rooms. I went to get them out first, or I would have gotten to you sooner."

"That was you?" Granger was looking at Weasley with grateful warmth. "The professors got to us just in time for me to drag Malfoy out of there." Draco's chest tightened. He winced and grabbed at his bandage, drawing Granger's attention back to him.

Weasley cleared his throat. "What about you lot? Ginny told me you made a switch?"

"Malfoy and I polyjuiced into each other. He insisted," Potter said. His expression was melancholy, lost in a memory. "Never my first choice, you know, but it worked brilliantly."

"Why, because they trusted him?" Weasley said, his tone edging into a growl. Draco snarled back. He would have given the redhead a piece of his mind, but Potter jumped in quickly.

"No. It's because they __didn't__."

Weasley raised an eyebrow in a challenge and looked at each of them in turn. When no one said anything else, he came around to Granger and took her free hand. He swallowed with difficulty.

"You're still a slimy git, Malfoy."

"Ronald!" Hermione scolded.

Draco's staccato laugh came out before he could smother it. "Maybe. And you're still a troll-brained tosser." Granger shot him another furious look, but they were interrupted again. Madam Pomfrey rounded the curtain with her own stern face.

"The headmistress requested you in her office, Mr. Malfoy. Please shoo your guests so I can check that you're well enough to oblige."

Granger stood and gave him a wave, but Draco was focused on her other hand, still entangled with Weasley's. "I'll be in the Room of Requirement when McGonagall is finished with you."

Pomfrey bustled over and checked his eyes by wand light. "How are you feeling, any pain?"

"No," he lied. He didn't want to be fussed over by the nurse. But as she checked his bandage, he realized that it wasn't actually a lie. Sure, he felt his battle wounds, but Granger was gone and his curse pains hadn't returned! Was he just imagining it because the other pain was greater? He racked his brain, trying to remember the moment when she broke off skin contact, but he couldn't pinpoint it. He looked at the back of his own hand, where Granger had been injured and for the first time, realized he hadn't felt her pain. And her emotions! He had only read them in her expression and tone, he hadn't felt those either.

_ _Am I cured?_ _

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Once outside the hospital wing, Ron stopped Hermione, letting Harry go ahead. Ron took her other hand so he was holding both in his.

"You're okay?" His eyes were wide and sweet.

"Yes, Ron. I'm okay."

With the confirmation, his demeanor flipped. "I can't believe that wanker. Putting you in danger like that."

Hermione sighed. She took a moment before replying, trying to think of a way to word the truth without revealing her past lie. "I was already in danger, we all were. You can't hold that against him. And he helped us get out of it." She decided to press her luck a little more. "You have to admit, he's a better person now."

"Yeah, that's kind of the problem, 'Mione." Ron said back.

Hermione took a step backward, dropping Ron's hands. "What does that even mean?"

He turned away, putting more distance between them. When he turned back, he answered her question with one of his own. "Can you honestly say that you missed the way he looked at you?"

"You think..." She blinked in shock. "Is that what this is about? Here I thought you were just garden variety annoyed because it's him, but you're actually jealous?"

"I'm not the jealous one, Hermione. He is." The accusation hung in the air between them and the silence stretched. Ron stood still, waiting.

"I didn't ask for this, you know," she whispered. "The binding spell. Any of it." She left the end purposefully vague, but she could tell Ron understood.

He let out a slow huff. "I know," he said, more softly, but his mouth was still turned down. He wanted to say more, she could tell by the conflicted expression he wore, but the words didn't come. He reached for her again and pulled her close. She felt him plant a kiss against her temple, then he was gone.


	13. Chapter 13

Upon entering the Headmistress's office, Draco noticed two things immediately. First- they weren't alone. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the newly appointed Minister of Magic was standing at McGonagall's side behind her desk. And second- they were smiling. At him. Met with closed lips but gentle eyes, he was uncertain the meaning behind it. It was unnerving, to say the least.

"You asked to see me, Professor?" he addressed McGonagall directly. The only time Draco had heard the man speak was at his court hearing, and he was not itching to relive it.

"We did, Mister Malfoy. Please have a seat." She gestured toward the chairs on the opposite side of her desk. Kingsley crossed over and took one of the two. Draco hesitated but sat next to him. McGonagall took her own seat and continued. "We wanted to follow up with you about the break-in."

"I had nothing to do with it." He said quickly, squaring his jaw in a knee-jerk defense.

"Oh, we know," McGonagall gave him a stern eyebrow raise, quieting him instantly. "We spoke with Professor Potter before you awoke."

Draco dug his nails into his palms to suppress the urge to roll his eyes.

"Mister Malfoy, I know your history." The minister's deep voice joined in. Draco turned his head but could not make himself look up. His nails dug in deeper. "I've now seen you use your mind for strategy both for and against our cause. It should go without saying, but the former is preferred." As he finished his statement, his voice seemed louder, and a hint of a question entered his tone. Draco chanced a look up and found Shacklebolt smiling again. This time it was with teeth.

"Thank you, sir," he said, for lack of how else to respond.

"I mean to make you an offer. The terms of your probation include a healing project, and if you'll agree to work with me, it will count as such." Shacklebolt was a slow talker. Draco wished he would get to the point.

"What exactly would I be agreeing to work on?"

"Reorganization of Azkaban. There have been three mass breakouts under the current management. I want to remove the dementors, and I want you to help do it."

"Me?" Draco looked back and forth between the other two.

"Not only you," came Shacklebolt's rumbling reply, "but yes." Draco hesitated just long enough to allow the older man to continue. "I will let you consider. Send an owl with your decision soon." Shacklebolt stood again and offered his hand. Draco shook it slowly. The man grinned and left Draco alone with the headmistress who nodded in his direction.

"That will be all, Mister Malfoy. You may return to your dormitory."

Draco chewed on his cheek and took several strides away. He stopped with his palm against the door and turned to find McGonagall's eye still trained on him.

"Was there something else?" She prompted.

Draco steeled himself. He couldn't tell her. "No, Professor." He lifted his arm again to get the door and looked at the back of his hand. His memory flashed back on Granger and the scrape of blood she had- and how he hadn't felt it at all. He paused. He couldn't tell her, but he had to.

"Actually, there is one thing," he said as he closed the distance. He perched in his prior seat and considered for a long moment about how to broach the subject. McGonagall waited in silence. Eventually, he said, "Have you... heard of the love prison spell?"

She blanched but composed herself quickly. "I have," she said expectantly, prompting him to go on.

"I… cast it on myself earlier this year," he confessed. "Accidentally."

A glimmer of recognition flashed in her features. "Ah yes, your fainting spells. I suppose you are already aware of the serious predicament this puts you in?"

"I am," he affirmed. "We've managed alright, given the situation."

McGonagall shot him a piercing look and Draco suddenly wondered if she was a Legilimens.

"If I had to venture a guess, would it be Miss Granger that you've bound yourself to?"

He nodded.

"Well…" she said quietly. It was obvious she was thinking more but wouldn't say. "You are extraordinarily lucky that you are attached to someone with such a... sympathetic nature."

Draco jumped in, unable to hold his curiosity any longer. "The only thing we haven't been able to find yet is a cure. I don't even know if it's possible, I thought you might know. Can it be reversed?"

She sighed "There is one way."

When she didn't elaborate, Draco continued again. "I think I may have inadvertently cured it. At least part way. I'm unsure though if it's just a trick in my mind."

"Oh?" she asks. And it might have been another trick, but Draco swore he saw a hint of a smile renew on her features.

"I used to be able to feel her pain and her emotions, and it used to hurt to be far from her. But I can't feel her anymore, and now my skin isn't on fire even though she's not..." He couldn't bring himself to say it, so he folded his hands together as a demonstration."It"s just the pain in here left." He tapped his chest.

When he looked up, it was evident that her smile was no trick of the mind.

"In your heart?" Her grin was almost feline.

"I suppose you could say that," he replied tentatively.

McGonagall tsked. "Mister Malfoy, I daresay you did find the cure yourself."

"But it isn't completely gone yet. My chest…" he thumped his hand over his heart again. McGonagall gave a small laugh. Malfoy snorted in offense. "I'm sorry, Professor, I fail to see the humour in this."

"Yes, my apologies." She cleared her throat and regained her stoicism. "What I mean is, the pain you are currently feeling is not the remnants of the spell, and it is usually much less dangerous."

Draco cocked his eyebrow.

"The cure for a love prison spell is for the two people to fall in mutual romantic love. The pain you feel in your heart when you're away from Miss Granger is, simply, love." She paused and a glint returned to her eye. "You _miss_ her."

"I…" Draco started, muddling through the thoughts that were assaulting him. "That can't be right." McGonagall just watched him. "But I'm miserable." he moaned.

McGonagall lifted her shoulders in a dignified shrug. "Sometimes that's love," she said with a motherly tone. Draco pinched his face in a sneer. What made her the expert in relationships? She wasn't married, never was, as far as Draco knew. Then his thoughts dawned on Hermione. The older witch had said _mutual_ love after all.

"It's impossible. It would mean…"

McGonagall splayed her hands. "I think, perhaps, it would be best for you to continue this conversation with Miss Granger."

Numb, Draco stood. She was right, he had to get to the Room of Requirement, where Hermione had promised to wait for him.

"Before you go..." she wrote hurriedly on a scrap of parchment "here is the book in which you will find the confirmation, and permission to access the restricted section of the library."

Draco's hand went out automatically to receive the slip.

"Have a biscuit, Mister Malfoy. For the nerves." She indicated a platter on her desk, but Draco ignored it. This time, he left swiftly and practically sprinted to the library. When he got to the door, he stopped before going in. Did he truly need the book to confirm it? Now that he had the peace of solitude, the ache in his heart didn't feel like pain anymore. In that moment, it felt like _longing_. So why was he wasting his time?

He redirected his path to the seventh floor. Happiness welled inside of him when he opened the door to the Room of Requirement and found Hermione on their couch, beaming at him.

"You were brilliant," she said softly. "Foolish, obviously, but brilliant. There may be a little Gryffindor in you after all."

He smiled back. "Granger, I'm not sure who you mean to wound. You're implying that you're foolish, too, you know."

Her cheeks coloured slightly. Draco drew in a large breath of air to steady himself.

"I spoke with Mc-"

"Back at the hosp-"

They both paused.

"Sorry, you first," she offered.

"No, it's alright." He waved her on.

She sighed. "Back at the hospital wing, the way Ron treated you... it was inexcusable. What he should have said, well, what he meant to say, I think, was 'thank you'."

_Weasley._

She was still with him. She had to be if she was defending his temper. All at once, Draco's heartache returned. He was used to that sensation going away when he got near her, but now the knowledge that he loved her and couldn't have her hurt more.

"Right. He's welcome." They stared at each other for a minute, then Hermione blinked as if coming out of a trance.

"Oh! Where is my mind?" She reached out and grabbed his hand. "Can't have you sitting right here in more pain than you should be. And what did you want to say to me?"

Draco didn't tell her that he was cured, or how it came to be. He realized that his heart wouldn't be able to survive if she took it as hard as he had, or worse. No, this was a conclusion she would need to come to on her own. But he would be there, holding her hand, until she figured it out. For now, he did his best to feign the relief he usually felt at her touch and told her _a _truth. Not _the _truth, but at least it was still honest.

"Uh. I think Kingsley Shacklebolt offered me a job."

"That's wonderful! Tell me all about it."


	14. Chapter 14

"_Honestly!"_ Hermione groaned under her breath as she stormed into the Room of Requirement. "That absolute... he truly... I just can't believe..." She flung herself onto the couch and slammed her bag down beside her. Malfoy looked up from his book with a curious look.

"Something the matter?"

"Oh, like you don't know!" She barked.

"Right," he cleared his throat to correct himself. "Care to tell me _what's _the matter, then? Or whom, perhaps?"

The way he said it, careful and even, made Hermione think he already knew the answer, no matter how often he told her that he couldn't read her mind.

She forced her breath out in a loud sigh. "If you must know..." she paused. Malfoy's eyes felt like they were burning a hole through her skin and she wasn't sure if she could meet his gaze while she spoke. "Ronald and I have broken up."

There was no sound in the room for a full minute, then Malfoy uttered a simple, "Oh."

Hermione sniffed. "No 'I told you so'?"

"No." It was short but not cold, and he still hadn't turned away. "You could tell me what happened," he offered, and when she hesitated, he added, "Only if you want."

"Nothing happened," she mumbled.

Malfoy shifted in his seat and a slight edge snuck into his voice. "If you don't want to tell me, that's fine." Hermione looked up and cocked an eyebrow, wishing for probably the millionth time that she could sense his emotions. Was he put out that he thought she wasn't sharing with him?

"No, I meant... _nothing_ happened," she reiterated. "In our relationship in general. I mean, the whole 'not in mutual love' thing..."

When he interrupted, the edge in his voice had disappeared, only a tentatively curiosity remained. "But you've known about that for a while. What changed?"

She sighed. "I suppose I didn't want to believe it. But today, he didn't even know what _day _it is! And I thought it would be special to..." Her cheeks flushed with heat as she stopped herself.

"The day?" Malfoy squinted in thought. "What's so special about a Saturday?"

"Not Saturday," she corrected. "The fourteenth. Of February."

"Oh," he repeated, and his voice was back to flat stoicism. "So you wanted to..."

Hermione regained her senses in a snap. "Malfoy, I can't talk about this with you."

"Sorry to be indecent, Granger, but your sex life kind of involves me." He stared angrily at the book in his lap. "If you had... with the Weasel..."

"Right, the spell." Hermione softened. "I know it looks as though I'm being reckless with your well-being, but...I think part of me knew what would really happen when I went. That you wouldn't be in danger." She bit her lip. Saying it out loud was the first time she admitted it to anyone, even herself.

He looked at her now from the corner of his eye like he expected her to continue, and for a reason she couldn't place, she did. "We were kidding ourselves, me and Ron, to think we were more than friends. He really is good when you need him, you know. As for _wanting _him... There was no romance, no spark." She tugged at her jumper in discomfort.

What she didn't tell him, _couldn't _tell him, was that he was more involved than she let on. Ron had known that, no matter what, her Valentine's evening would end with Malfoy. And, as Ron had said, he had no intention of 'delaying the inevitable.' She hadn't missed his implication, and naturally, a row ensued.

_"I've told you before, Ronald. You can trust me."_

_"'S not about trust, Hermione. I don't want to feel like you're using me as a safe house while you wait for something else."_

The echoes of Ron's words bounced around her brain, renewing the fire of her anger. _Well, what's so bad about feeling safe with your boyfriend_, she grumbled inwardly. She was so distracted, she nearly didn't catch what Malfoy was saying.

"So... would it have been special because it would have been the first time.."

"No!" she shouted, a little louder and more desperately than she intended.

A light pink blossomed across his cheeks. "'No' meaning it wouldn't have been the first?"

"Meaning I'm _not _talking about this with you," she said, putting her hand up in a 'stop' signal for emphasis, but Malfoy didn't appear to be backing down. A change of topic might be her only way out. Before he could get out another word she asked, "Have you heard back from your owl to Kingsley? Am I allowed to tag along on your visits to Azkaban?"

His job offer had been something they'd discussed often over the last five weeks. Mostly they talked about ideas for the job, going over the history of the fortress and the current status quo in an effort to find where and how to implement any changes. It was only in the past several days, as the countdown to graduation ticked on, that Hermione had forced him to talk logistics. When would he have to go? How long would they have to be apart?

He winced in response.

"You haven't sent the letter?" she asked, reading his hesitation.

"Not exactly."

Her voice became sharper as she crossed her arms over her bust. "Have you even _written_ it?" He shrugged.

Hermione huffed. "Draco, how can you be so blasé about this? Kingsley will understand if you explain the circumstances of the spell." The words had spilled out of her mouth rapidly. When she slowed to take a breath, her thoughts caught up and it dawned on her why he might be reluctant. "Are you worried you'll get in trouble for casting it? We can tell him it was an accident. I can tell him it was me..."

"You think I want you to take the blame for me?" he said bitterly.

She clicked her tongue against her teeth and shook her head. "I just think it's better to be prepared."

"And _I _think there's still time for you to figure out the cure. No one else has to get involved."

A smile crept onto her face. "I'm flattered you have that faith in me, but maybe you should have some in yourself, too. It could be you who finds the cure."

His jaw tensed and Hermione almost slapped herself on the forehead for her stupidity.

"What an idiot I am! You know, you're really going to have to start reminding me," she said as she slid down the sofa toward him and extended her hand. "You're doing such a good job pretending not to be in pain, I forget sometimes."

Silent again, he welcomed her with his own outstretched hand and, as they met in the middle, a spark jolted up through their fingertips.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alpha credit for this chapter to PotionChemist! No beta in general though, so any mistakes are mine.

"Where's Hermione?" Ginny Weasley said from the head of the table.

Draco was in another Prefect meeting after the student body returned from Easter break. They were supposed to be putting the finishing touches on plans for the Unity Ball, but they were short one Head Girl. All the eyes in the room fell simultaneously to Draco. It's funny how much things can change over the school year, Draco thought. If he had gotten this reaction last Autumn, it would have been because they thought he'd done something to her. As it was now, they were waiting for him to answer for her whereabouts as the person most likely to know.

It was true that after Valentine's Day, he and Hermione had done little to hide their friendship. It seemed that once she believed it wouldn't look like infidelity, she spent a lot more time visibly in his presence. One morning in late February she had shown up at his side at the Slytherin table and stayed for breakfast. Even with all her gallantry and self-assurance, the rumour mill had started up with a fervor, but she plowed on. Eventually, as the weeks had passed, the sight of the two of them sharing a meal or walking to class was simply normal.

Draco had spent most of that time subtly wooing her- carrying her books, a sincere compliment here, a lingering smile there, a gentle caress. To date, he'd not yet told her that the spell was broken, still holding on to the belief that it best that she figured it out on her own. Well, holding on by a thread at this point. He was starting to grow frustrated with her apparent denial and his resolve was waning. There were a few times he nearly spilled the beans, but with each failed attempt, it grew harder to get it out.

He could have told her on Valentine's Day. The gooey, fluffy, pink heart-filled holiday should have been the perfect time to tell her, especially since she was _finally_ single. And it might have been, except for the fact that she was so _freshly_ single that it felt wrong, like he was taking advantage of that vulnerability. He kept quiet.

He wanted to tell her one weekend in early March. They'd spent the day in Hogsmeade and had a lovely time sipping hot cocoa and perusing the dark, forgotten corners of Tomes and Scrolls bookshop. He'd been prepared that time, having come up with a lie about the cure to save the immediate awkwardness. Then Saint Potter came out of the woodwork and horned in on their evening in the Room. The lonely toad meant well, Draco grumbled to himself while the friends conversed easily. Regardless of good intent, Draco's moment was ruined. He kept quiet.

He had to tell her over Easter break, he'd decided after several days of uninterrupted cuddling on their couch. She'd seemed receptive, snuggling deeper into his arms as they read together, and laughing lightly when he flexed automatically. Then she mentioned life after Hogwarts, how they'd have to arrange to stay in contact around respective careers and residences. It should have made him happy, he thought, but a queasy bout of anxiety took residence in his gut. What if she took his revelation poorly and he never got to live that life? On the cusp of graduation, everything was in flux. It all felt so delicate, like if he squeezed too tightly, their fragile relationship might pop like a soap bubble. Fear muted him and, again, he kept quiet.

Weasley cleared her throat and Draco came out of his daydream to realize he still had the attention of the room and he'd kept quiet a little too long for comfort.

"Malfoy, do you know where Hermione is?" she asked directly.

"Here!" Hermione's breathless voice rang from the hall. She rushed into the room with her bag slung over one shoulder and a thick book under the other arm. "Sorry, I was researching in the library and didn't realize what time it was." A wide smile and a pretty flush took over her face as she sat in the open seat next to Draco. As the meeting finally got underway, she drummed her fingers on her book, drawing his attention to the title that appeared to be burned into the side. _Kataranomicon_? Why did that sound so familiar? When he looked up, she was watching him. She hesitated briefly, then her fingers left the book and brushed his. Right on top of the table where everyone could see. He was certain that more than one eyebrow raised then.

And suddenly it hit him- in memory he saw the title of that book handwritten, in the Headmistress' slanting cursive. This was the book that explained the cure! Had Hermione lost track of time because she had stumbled on the answer after all this time? He couldn't concentrate for the rest of the meeting. There was a question about payment for the band that he nodded away; how could he think of something as trivial as finances when his thoughts were consumed with the hope that she might know? That she might, in fact, be happy about it? He had to confirm it. What he didn't have to do, apparently, was waste any time wondering how to bring it up, because as soon as the meeting ended and the Prefects and other Heads began to filter out of the room, Hermione rounded on him.

"I have an idea."

"Do enlighten me," he said, relieved to allow her to go first.

"I would like... I mean it would make sense for..." She seemed flustered and took a break to rub the book cover beneath her thumb in a soothing repetitive pattern. "I think you should ask me to the ball." She looked up from under her eyelashes. "Unless, of course, you had someone else in mind?" But she was smiling in such a way that could not be mistaken. She knew.

"Yes!" he said, too exuberantly, as it turns out. Her face fell slightly and he realized his mistake, rushing to clarify. "Sorry, no. There's no one else. Come with me to the ball?"

Instantly, she was back to all smiles, leaving Draco so in awe of his good fortune that his good sense flew out the window. His gaze dropped to her lips, slightly parted as if in invitation. He leaned in and let his eyes fall closed, but before he could hit his target, he felt pressure at his chest. He opened his eyes and Hermione had stepped backward, with her hands holding him at a distance.

"I'm sorry," he said again around gulping breaths. "We don't have to..."

Her jaw had dropped further and she was blinking rapidly, a mixture of surprise and contemplation. Normally in a situation such as this, when the embarrassment threatened to overtake him, he would throw a deflecting insult or simply run away. But now, he knew two things: he loved her and she loved him in return. He didn't have to hide from this, he just had to wait for her reaction.

"It's alright," she whispered after a stretched silence. She may have said other things, but Draco was too distracted to register the words. She had latched herself around his neck, pulling him down again to meet her for a decisive kiss. A desperate kind of groan rumbled in the back of his throat. On instinct, he wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her closer, and the other hand in her curls. Her appreciation of this was expressed by her backing him into a wall, pressing against him in such a way that was completely improper for their classroom setting. Neither cared. They jostled a portrait of an old wizard, who protested from behind Draco's back with a muffled 'Hey!'.

"Anything?' she asked into his mouth between kisses.

"Hmm?" He couldn't speak. His mouth was too busy trailing down her neck, sucking and licking and nibbling anywhere he could reach. Not that he trusted his brain to form words at this point anyway. He must have found the right spot because she sighed with pleasure.

"Ahhhh... D-draco. Can you feel...?"

"Mhmm." His hand made the journey down her back, around the curve of her arse, and along her thigh to her knee, which he lifted to his hip so he grind into her.

"Mmmm. Are you cured?" She asked before he recaptured her mouth.

"Mhmm."

Hermione practically jumped with excitement. "It worked? Brilliant!"

Draco stopped everything he was doing. "It worked?" He echoed flatly, hoping she'd correct him. He didn't trust his ears because all he could hear was his heartbeat in dramatic slow motion.

She nodded, beaming. "It's like a fairy tale, a spell broken with a kiss. A wonder it didn't occur to me earlier."

"Hermione, were you…" Draco's voice betrayed him with a deep crack. "You were only kissing me to try to break the spell?"

"Well, I-" Hermione extracted her limbs from the tangle of their embrace and adjusted her skirt. The blush on her cheeks matched her Gryffindor tie. "Isn't that what _you_ were doing?"

She had ignored his question to ask one of her own, so he swallowed thickly and paid her back in kind. "Have you not read that book?"

"I only just found it in the Restricted Section. I suppose now I don't have to."

Draco kicked off the wall and bumped past Hermione, effectively putting more distance between them. He couldn't think when she was that close. Without the support of the wall to fall back on, he stood a little straighter, felt more in control. "Aren't you supposed to be the brave one?"

She turned to face him. At least she wasn't that much of a coward. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that when I found out about the cure," he tapped his fingers against the cover of the book for emphasis, "I was hesitant. But it took me less than an hour to admit to myself that I loved you. Yet here we are _months_ later and you can't stop hiding from it."

Hermione wrinkled her brow. "Did you say months? You've been cured for months and didn't bother to mention it?"

"That's what you got from what I said?" Draco grabbed a fistful of his hair, ready to tear it out at the root. "Did you miss the part where I told you I love you, you ridiculous witch?"

She looked down at her feet. "Months?" she repeated. Only this time, her voice was soft, and when she looked up there was a glimmer in her eye. Draco couldn't feel her emotions anymore, but it looked a lot like hope. Hermione stepped closer and put her hand up to his chest again. This time, instead of feeling pushed away he felt connected. Her hand to his heart.

"I wanted you to figure it out on your own." He snaked his arms around her waist again and she leaned in, placing a small kiss on the underside of his jaw.

"I love you, too."

He gave her an innocent grin. "I know."

Her resulting scoff was lost as he reclaimed her lips hungrily. The old wizard in the portrait grumbled his objections again and Draco conjured a curtain to cover the canvas.


	16. Chapter 16

An early summer breeze blew through the Hogwarts courtyard, bringing the scent of a very familiar cologne. Hermione breathed in deep and smiled knowingly.

"You found me," she said as she turned, finding Draco a few steps away. His hair and dress robes were deliciously disheveled just so after having danced half the night away at the Unity Ball. He extended one hand toward her, as he had always done while sat on their couch in the Room of Requirement. She closed the distance between them and took his offered hand, only to be swept fully into his arms. He swayed her in time to the distant music.

"Ready to call it a night, love?" He asked against her ear.

"Not quite. It was just a bit hard to hear myself think in there." Hermione nodded her head in the direction of the Great Hall where the students and teachers alike were still carrying on.

"And what, pray tell, needs your thoughts right about now?" Draco lifted his right arm, coaxing her into a spin, then down into a dramatic dip. "How handsome your date is? How much you want to take him behind those pillars and snog him within an inch of his life?" She allowed him one sweet but chaste kiss before pulling away and righting herself.

"Actually, I was considering the future."

Draco gave a hum of subtle amusement. "Reading the stars?"

"No," she said, nudging him playfully. "Trying to plan. Although, I wasn't getting very far by myself. Since it pertains to you as well, you should have some input."

He stopped moving then and his face lit up with excitement. "Well, now that you mention it, I do have some ideas for the future. A cottage in the middle of nowhere, just for you and me. We'll tell no one else so I can have you all to myself."

"What about work?" she demanded in mock outrage. "I've got a position at the Ministry lined up, and you'll be off cleaning up Azkaban."

"We'll skive off. I've still got enough family fortune to last our children's children."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. "So we're having children, are we?" Draco's cheeks reddened slightly and he gazed at her with a hopeful smile.

Later, as he gave her a smile of an entirely different, devilish kind, she half-heartedly threatened him with the consequences of sneaking into her dormitory, but he silenced her with his breath on her neck.

"I don't know, the consequences worked out well last time. I got you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Dramione Fanfiction Writers for helping me finish this by hosting the Wiptember challenge.


End file.
